X Marks the Man
by Kitty O
Summary: 20 years ago, the Purge led to a revolt which dethroned Uther Pendragon. Now, in a world where magic is the norm and being Mundane is illegal, outlawed Uther and his son Arthur Pendragon are determined to make some headway in Camelot for their people, even if reaching that goal involves espionage and assassination. It's a shame their intended victim is so nice. Reverse!AU, no slash
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So. Another AU. I know you wanna kill me, but it was Ultra-Geek's idea, and someone had to do it, and the plot bunnies! They attacked! Sorry. This story will be continued, but probably not until I've gotten a bit of work out of the way by finishing Wolf in Sheep's Clothing and getting myself more firmly set into Polishing Armor. So all thanks to Ultra-Geek, and here we go!**

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><p>The general hubbub of the camp filled the back of Arthur's mind with noise, but he expertly ignored it as he strode down the foot-packed dirt road. He was faintly irritated, but working on not showing it. He'd just cornered – finally! – the pretty woman working in the medical tent when his father's messenger showed up and told him that his father wanted to see him. Arthur had told Gwen he would return, but she'd only chuckled and returned to going about her business. He sighed.<p>

As he came to the shack that his father was in, a slightly more permanent structure among everything else, which was temporary, he sighed and took a moment to collect himself, pushing his blond hair back and straightening his posture. Uther didn't like him to look less than alert. The family might not be royalty any longer, but you wouldn't know it from Uther's behavior.

Arthur slipped in, spotting his father at once, leaning over a map set on a table with Leon standing next to him. He was talking through his teeth in that way he had, showing he was serious, and Leon was bobbing his brown head, making his curls bounce.

Arthur strode over and stood up straight next to the table. "Father? You called me?"

Uther looked up. He had stormy eyes that matched his gray hair and a face lined with many years of being firm and in charge. Arthur would look like that one day if he could be as much of a leader, and live as long, as his father.

"Yes," Uther said. "I suppose you heard what happened to the group we sent to Camelot."

"I have. There were no survivors?" Their mission had been to get something good for the Mundanes, no matter what it was, whether it was political rights or the assassination of a high official. Uther had felt that the refugees just couldn't survive without any hope.

"None. Morale is lower than ever."

"Don't worry too much, Father," Arthur said. "The people trust you too much; they wouldn't begin to cause trouble when this group is the only thing keeping them alive."

"We've already caught two petty thieves this week," Leon spoke up. "And curfew is continually broken."

"Surely those are just small things?" asked Arthur.

"They build," Leon told him. Arthur looked at him. Leon was a young man, perhaps in his late twenties, with a kind face. He wasn't made for a life of hiding, but he'd adapted. The pro-magic law had been instated when Leon was about five, but they had really begun to crunch down recently. Over the collar of his shirt, Arthur could see where the "X" scar that covered his chest ended. A brand for a first time offender or a small rebellion against the Old Religion. Uther had one too. Very many of refugees did.

"They do, Arthur," said Uther. "But morale I can handle. It's the failure of the mission that is alarming. We cannot afford to lose ground. We need to think of the future."

"Are you going to try it again?" Arthur asked respectfully.

Uther nodded. "With a few modifications. A smaller group this time. We just need one person to infiltrate the palace."

"What will the mission be?" Arthur asked.

"Information," Uther said. "We need to know the workings of the court. And then, assassination."

"We're going to combine the two things?"

Uther nodded, walking away from the map on the table. "The king or the prince would be the best targets. It doesn't matter where we begin to make headway, for we have made none so far. And we need to start somewhere."

Arthur blinked. Basically, he thought to himself, might as well be hung for a cow as a goat. That wasn't a very Uther-esque plan. They must be desperate.

He thought that over.

Uther opened a small box they had sitting on another, smaller table, and reached inside with his back turned to Arthur. "All we need," he said, "is a volunteer."

Arthur cleared his throat. Well, he was the best fighter the resisting refugees had, and he'd learned from the best. And he was hardly a stranger to hiding or to diplomacy, thanks to training from the one-time king of Camelot—the man standing in front of him. "Father," he said. "I would like to volunteer." It was fitting, after all, that the man who never got to be prince, thanks to Balinor, should strike this sort of blow against the magical government.

Uther turned around. He held a long knife with a delicately carved hilt in his hand. "I know," he said, and drove the tip of the knife into the wood of the table for Arthur to take up himself.

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><p><strong>AN: So the rest of the chapters will probably be a bit longer, but this is to get us all started off. There you go! Please review. Tell me what you thought. **


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur shifted the weight of the pack on his back and took another look around. He wasn't worried he'd get lost; he knew the way to Camelot. Because why wouldn't he know the way to the place that was responsible for ruining his life? Even if, by some improbable chance, he ended up going the wrong way, then he could simply ask directions in the first town he reached.

Towns grew up like wildflowers around Camelot; small, temporary, easily crushed things. The big city herself was the real jewel in this collection, Arthur had heard: he'd only been there once himself. And he hadn't actually been sightseeing; he'd been running for his life. That had been shortly before Uther had decided it was time to move their camp so they couldn't be found again.

Arthur hadn't thought he'd go back voluntarily.

But here he was, shoddy clothes patched for the trip, shoes keeping his feet warm, a pack hanging on his back with the necessities, and a dagger nearly unnoticeable in its sheath by his side and its hilt hidden beneath his jacket. Arthur wished he had his sword. He owned one, and he was good with it… But he'd had to leave it behind, for fear that a peasant with a sword might draw attention.

And Arthur didn't want to draw attention. If it was discovered he was a Mundane, he might not be killed or even necessarily branded, but if it was discovered who his father was, he certainly would be.

All around the dirt road that he ambled down, trees stood guard, tall and leafy. The sun was shining but not hot, and it was an overall lovely day. Arthur wasn't too nervous to appreciate it, either; something to be grateful for.

He noticed that he was beginning to get closer to the city. He passed by several peasants and two men on horseback, wearing Camelot's colors – blue and gold – and chainmail. Without thinking, Arthur turned his face away from the fighters, his heart rate going up.

_Stop, Arthur, _he thought to himself. _They might be magic. They might be able to tell. _He'd never heard of a magic user that could read minds, but his father had always told him that magic-users were evil and tricky.

Evil, he was still withholding judgment on. He hadn't met many. Tricky; he _knew _they were tricky.

But the men reminded him of times from his childhood. Made him think of staying in a camp too long, and of King Balinor's men searching it. Crouched in a corner, trying to make the hut look uninhabited, or hiding behind trees while the tent was torn down, with his father holding him like the wind was going to try and tear him away. His father's death grip had been just as terrifying as the search. Morgana had still been with them at that point, and Arthur could vividly remember her green eyes like the moon: round and glowing with tears.

Arthur shook the memory off as he continued down the road past the men (and if they could read his mind or feel his pulse, they didn't let on). The thought of Morgana had helped drag him back to reality.

Morgana hadn't been with them for more than a year. She'd walked down this very road into Camelot and hadn't come back out. Uther hadn't really gotten over that.

Camelot was looming over him now. The city was a splotch against the blue sky, with high walls blocking too much of his view into the inside. The castle could be seen, though, trying to crack open heaven with its high towers. Arthur stopped on the road, craning his neck up and smiling a little.

She was a beautiful city, that was for sure. Uther had made sure to tell him many times that she should be the Pendragons', and so Arthur felt a certain kinship with the alien city. He didn't mind that he wouldn't be king. (You couldn't really miss what you'd never had, could you?) But he did regret that he couldn't get to know the city before now.

That was how he would spend the day, then. Looking around, getting to know Camelot. He didn't really have a plan other than that which his father gave him: get in, get information, kill someone important, and return with the glory that the Mundanes needed to keep their spirits up. He was making the details up as he went along.

After a while more of silent walking spent enjoying nature's good mood, Arthur arrived at the gate of Camelot. He'd hoped to be washed in with a crowd of people, but he was the only one entering at the time—pity. Still, he held his head up like he was sure as anything and bold as brass and started on through.

"Hey, you," one of the guards on either side of the gate called, and Arthur found himself obliged to stop.

His heart thudded again, trying to run away, but he kept his face barely interested. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

"State your business," said the guard, but not like he was suspicious. He barely seemed to care.

Great, Arthur got a bored guard who just wanted an excuse to talk. "Just going to stay in Camelot for a while," he said, almost honestly. "Figured I could find work or something."

The man laughed. "Good luck with that. What do you do?"

Arthur smiled. He wasn't overly-friendly himself, but he figured he wasn't in a hurry to get anywhere special. As long as the guard didn't get suspicious. "Anything I need to," he replied.

The guard chuckled, but he spotted some more people to torment with pointless questions coming up the road behind Arthur, and waved for the muscular blond man to go into Camelot.

Arthur stepped inside and got his first glimpse of Camelot in a long while, and his first glance ever not rushing through it at breakneck speed.

His first impression was color and noise and chaos. Arthur looked around with wide eyes, looking like a bumpkin and not caring as sounds swept all around him and he tried to make sense of it all. The color came mostly from the people and the cloths and the banners of Camelot hanging off the castle rising above the houses. The noise and chaos were from the people rushing all around, and there were all shapes and sizes. Arthur spotted children and mothers, youth and elderly, those who looked honest, and those he decided to avoid right away.

He kept walking around, looking everywhere, thinking how odd it felt to be a welcome stranger in society for once. Was this was being legal felt like? No wonder Morgana found it so enticing.

A slight smile found its way to his lips as he walked. He nearly forgot why he was there in the first place as he enjoyed the social scenery. And this was just the lower town.

He would bet the castle was sumptuous. He'd have to make his way there anyway, eventually, so he decided just to enjoy this for now.

"Careful!"

Arthur came to a halt at the call aimed at him, looking around at once for any danger. Then he looked down—and winced at what he had been about to step in.

Looking back up, he came face-to-face with a baby-faced man with watery blue eyes.

"Didn't think you'd seen that," said the stranger kindly. "Always a danger walking out into the middle of the street."

Arthur gave a short laugh. "I'm glad your eyes were open. Thanks."

"No problem," said the man, who had a sack of something slung over his shoulder and a large ring on one finger—an odd thing for a peasant to own.

"Need help?" Arthur asked.

"No, I got it," the man answered, to Arthur's relief. "New in town?"

"Yes, I'm Arthur," the blond introduced himself. "How did you know?" He held out a hand, but the stranger's hands were full and he couldn't shake.

"You have the look. I'm Gilli."

"Nice to meet you," Arthur said. "I guess you aren't new then?"

"Lived here most of my life. It's a great city. Friendly, welcoming…" Gilli swelled with pride over Camelot.

"No man left behind?" Arthur guessed with a laugh, hiding the bitterness he felt at Gilli's praises. Friendly? This was the town that had scarred his father and Leon.

Gilli nodded agreeably.

"Do you know where I might find an inn to spend the night?" Arthur asked him, sensing that Gilli was about to walk away.

"Rising Sun," Gilli answered immediately, pointing. "They'll probably have room open. Affordable, too. Do you have any money?"

"A little," Arthur said. "Hopefully it'll be enough. Thank you for the help."

"Anytime," said Gilli. "If you're moving in, I hope to see you again sometime." And then he smiled and trooped off, the bag of something heavy (potatoes, maybe?) still slung over his shoulder.

"You too!" Arthur called after him, and then continued walking—this time in the direction Gilli had pointed.

He went down several more streets before he caught sight of the Rising Sun. He might as well get a room for the night, or at least make sure one was open, before he went sightseeing around Camelot.

As he went down the street, he spotted two men lingering in an alley off to the side of the road, with ragged clothes. One of them had scars from an X branding peeking over his shirt, and they just generally looked dangerous. Arthur skirted to the other side of the street to avoid them, which he guessed was a popular action, since of the few people on the street, all were on the opposite side from the men.

Except one.

He came walking up the road swiftly, as though he had somewhere to be, so the newcomer didn't see the men lingering. He was a pale man with dark hair and a lanky frame, and Arthur had the sudden urge to yell out and warn him.

But that would attract attention, which Arthur was trying not to do. So he remained silent—and as the dark-haired man passed by the alley, the two scary-looking men suddenly reached out and yanked him in.

Arthur froze in his tracks, his eyes going wide.

The man was pushed up against a wall, his own eyes open with surprise, and he opened his mouth as though to shout. But he was rudely interrupted by a fist to the stomach.

Arthur looked around. Didn't anyone else see this? No, no one was looking, and the whole scene was eerily silent. The blond looked back, momentarily torn. After all, he was here on a mission, not to save random magic-users from getting beaten up and robbed.

They were standing over their victim, who was trying to catch his breath, and starting to go through his clothes.

Arthur sighed.

_Fine. _

He rolled up his sleeves and barreled across the street with a sudden burst of speed, wondering if he would regret getting involved.

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><p><strong>AN: Review? That would be nice :) **

**I meant to not update until I had the whole story written out. But I just can't do that! I like to update as I write... Sorry about that. **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I might need to give a few people without magic some magical powers for the fanfic. So, Lancelot can use a little magic. Percival is in Camelot, though we might not meet him. Gwaine, Elyan, and Leon are with Arthur's people, okay?**

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><p>Arthur didn't want to have to use his knife. After all, the knife was saved for something special.<p>

So he used his fists instead.

They didn't expect him, so neither robber reacted at first when Arthur grabbed the one with his hands in the stranger's jacket and yanked him back… And then punched him in the face. The man jerked back, partly in surprise, and cried out.

The other man immediately grabbed Arthur from behind, holding his arms while his friend recovered. Arthur threw his head back, head butting the man in the chin and then ripping his arms from the man's grip.

Could he beat two men at once?

He didn't recall ever trying. Well, there had been the time with the Mundane bandits. But Arthur had a sword then. And then there was the time Elyan and Gwaine jumped him, Elyan because Arthur had been kissing on his sister and Gwaine because… well, Gwaine liked to fight. Arthur had (sort of) beaten them both, but Gwaine had messed up his ribs pretty bad.

Well, it was worth a shot.

As Arthur turned to punch one of the men (he'd lost track of which one it was now), he saw the skinny man peel himself off the wall. He might be some help. (Wait, with those muscles?)

Arthur received a blow to the face and then the side, and he bent nearly double, gasping. And then he rammed his shoulder into the man attacking him. Turning to the other one, he saw their victim had a knife and was facing off the man twice his size, his knees bent and prepared.

Oh, right, you didn't always need muscles. (Well, that's what Arthur had been _told…_)

Arthur left him to it, then, and went back to fighting the one who'd given him this blossoming bruise on his cheek. He threw another few hard punches, and at last the robber backed away, catching his breath.

"Hey, come on," he called to his partner. "It ain't worth it!"

His friend was still facing their victim, his own weapon out. But he looked at the blood dripping from the blond's mouth and the light in the dark-haired man's eyes, and he had to agree.

"Alright," he said, slowly backing off. Arthur kept his fists up until they were a good distance away down the alley, and then both turned and ran.

Arthur finally took a deep breath, smiling a little to himself, and turned back to look at the no-longer-in-distress skinny man, who was putting his knife out.

"Thanks," said the skinny man, smiling. He looked out the alley and back into the street—a couple of people were beginning to crowd. With a confident gesture, he motioned at them to disperse, and they did. "I think I owe you," he said, smoothing his clothes.

"Don't worry about it," Arthur said.

The man looked after the two that had run away. "That was… violent," he said with a laugh. "I wonder they didn't use magic to fight back… I wonder that you didn't use it in the first place, actually," he said, looking back at Arthur.

Arthur swallowed, but the man didn't look suspicious, just curious. Grinning, Arthur said, "Why didn't you?"

He cleared his throat. "I was caught off guard."

Arthur looked down at his stinging hands and rubbed his knuckles. "So were they."

The stranger looked down, trying to reason that out. It made sense… Arthur let him think it over for a few seconds (and hopefully decide that Arthur was perfectly trustworthy and magical), before adding, "Besides, they didn't have any magic. At least one of them didn't, I think."

The stranger raised his eyebrows. "How do you know?"

"One of them had the X brand. You didn't notice? And I imagine if the other one had any power to speak of, he'd find someone else like himself."

"Maybe it wasn't for that," Merlin said. "Could have been another crime."

That would be unusual, Arthur wanted to tell him, but didn't push the matter. "Anyway, I'm Arthur," he said, offering his hand.

The other man looked at it with slight amusement before shaking it. "Merlin," he said.

Arthur pulled his hand back faster than was probably necessary, his eyebrows drawing together.

And just then, right on time, as if being called, several men rounded the corner. They were in chainmail and all had swords hanging at their sides. Arthur's palms began to sweat. _I am going to die…_

The men fixed their eyes on Merlin. "Prince Merlin!" one of them snapped. "There you are."

Merlin smiled at him. "Yes, here I am, Lancelot. Don't worry so much. I just didn't want you following me."

"Protecting you," Lancelot replied in a way that made it sound like this was a long-standing argument. Then he turned to look at Arthur.

Arthur tried not to tense. _I am going to die. It'll probably be less painful if I die here rather than wait until I after get arrested. My father is going to be so disappointed…_

"Who's this?" asked Lancelot, the head knight in blue.

"Arthur," Merlin said. "I think he just saved my life."

"_What_?" Lancelot was a strong-looking man with dark hair and skin, but now he went a little pale and sick. "What happened?"

Merlin gestured to where the men had run. "Robbers," he said.

Lancelot gestured to several of the man behind him. About three from the five walked up. "How many?" he asked Merlin.

"Two," said Merlin, "but they were going pretty fast. You might not catch them."

"They'll try," Lancelot said as the three men ran off, past Arthur and Merlin. Then Lancelot turned to Arthur (who was still tense and had move from thinking_ I'm going to die _to _Father's going to kill me; I _saved_ his life!_) with a kindly smile. "I suppose I should thank you for saving my job," he said.

Merlin laughed. "I'm sorry, are you happy now, Lancelot?"

"No, Sire," Lancelot told him, nodding respectfully, but Arthur knew that he meant it as anything but.

"He's right, though," Merlin said, turning to Arthur. "I do owe you… You want a reward?"

Arthur blinked. He was still just beginning to comprehend that he wasn't about to die (unless he did something inexcusably stupid right now), and moving from that to a reward so quickly made him a little dizzy. "What?" he said stupidly.

"A reward," Merlin said, smiling, brushing his dark hair back. For the first time Arthur noticed that he held himself like a prince; he was tall to begin with, but the way he stood made him look taller. His shoulders were straight. It wasn't so different from the way Arthur himself stood—as he was the rightful prince, Uther had drilled posture and manners into him. How did Arthur miss this earlier?

"Oh, right," said Arthur, recovering, trying to be cool and collected. He rubbed his hands together to get the sweat off and raised his eyebrows to himself before dropping them, thinking it over to himself. "That's very generous."

"Well," Merlin said, "you did save my life." He smiled. He was being generous, and he knew it too. But then, Arthur figured, he had every right to be pleased with himself, with what he was offering to a complete stranger.

Lancelot was casting Merlin an irritated look, as though to warn him of something. Arthur barely noticed, but Merlin did. Merlin knew he was being warned not to do anything too big without asking his father. But he didn't particularly care—actually, it made the idea all the more enticing.

"What do you want? Money?"

"A job," Arthur said before he could talk himself out of it. "I'm new in Camelot, I need someplace to work. I was going to look for one today, actually—I was just on my way to the Rising Sun to get a room. Could I…" His throat was dry. He cleared it and went on, trying to stay confident, "Could I get a job at the castle?"

Merlin smiled. "I believe so," he said. "I don't see why not. You aren't going to go steal anything expensive, are you?" He chuckled.

Arthur was a little offended. "I don't steal things," he said. Which was true. Generally he didn't steal things. Unless he was really, really desperate. Even then he usually tried to pay whoever it was back.

"I was joking," Merlin assured him, and turned to Lancelot thoughtfully. "Aren't I short a manservant now?"

"Yes," Lancelot said grudgingly.

"He got married and moved away," Merlin explained to Arthur. "Have you ever been a manservant?"

"No," Arthur said truthfully. "But I'm a fast learner. I can figure things out."

Merlin grinned. "You're also good with your fists," he said.

"My magic is very weak," Arthur said in a self-derogatory tone. "It's pretty embarrassing actually."

"Maybe you don't need any more," Merlin said, but his words were hollow, just to be polite. He couldn't imagine life without strong, humming magic at his fingertips. "So what do you say? Want to try being a manservant?"

Arthur nodded. "Yes… Sire. I'll try not to get fired within the week."

Merlin nodded and smiled. "Start tomorrow?"

"Sounds good… Sire."

Arthur couldn't believe his luck. His Father would be proud of _this_… This was coming along nicely. He wasn't going to die after all; he was going to be in close contact with the prince. Arthur was well on his way to completing his plan of _information, assassination._

With only one problem.

He hadn't imagined the magical, evil son of the magical, evil king his father had cursed being so nice.

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><p><strong>AN: Thanks for reading. Please, please review.**


	4. Chapter 4

Lancelot didn't say a word the whole way back to the castle. His face was perfectly still, but he was lively enough—he still looked around like a normal person would, and his mouth was set in a perfectly neutral line. But Merlin had learned long ago that Lancelot's exasperation didn't show on his face. It was in the air around him. It always felt a little cooler whenever he was angry.

It was something a little magical by itself that Lancelot insisted was not actually caused by magic.

"Come on, Lancelot," Merlin said as they strolled through the streets, the other man hanging back a little. "Don't you want to yell at me?"

"Why would I do that, Sire?" Lancelot said.

"Because I nearly got killed?" Merlin guessed. He wasn't sure, actually. It could have been the other thing… "Or because I hired someone without running it by my father?"

"If you wish to get me executed by making my job harder and trying to kill yourself, that's certainly your own business," Lancelot told him emotionlessly. "And if you want to make your father yell at you, I don't care."

Merlin could really only respond one way to that, so he laughed. "Sorry, Lancelot," he apologized. "Don't worry. I can handle the bad guys. They haven't gotten me yet." And they probably never would. He'd just been startled, that's all. He had a knife and some of the most powerful magic recorded in the kingdoms. He'd be fine.

"There's a first time for everything…" Lancelot muttered as they reached the castle, but he let the subject drop, for which Merlin was grateful. In all honesty, he'd been pretty shaken up by those thugs, and he was also worried about what King Balinor would say. Recently it seemed Merlin did everything wrong, but recently Merlin couldn't seem to agree to a word his father said.

His mother assured him it was something that happened when children grew into adults, and that it would pass.

Probably.

As they walked into the palace, the rest of the men wandered off. Lancelot walked along with Merlin, because he'd begun to talk to Merlin about the schedule for tomorrow now that they'd all gone for a "little refreshing, stress-free walk."

They were both chuckling at something Merlin had said when Hunith found them.

"Merlin!"

Merlin looked up with a smile on his face. "Mother," he said, giving her a hug when she came up and offered one. Lancelot bid Merlin goodbye and wandered off in the other direction.

"Where have you been?" Hunith said. "You didn't show up for dinner. We were supposed to eat together."

Merlin winced. "Sorry, I forgot. We got a bit distracted on our walk."

"How distracted?" Hunith asked suspiciously, stepping back and regarding her son suspiciously. She was wearing a fine dress, satiny and deep blue. Her hair was around her shoulders, and it appeared her servant was still trying to do something about those perpetual pale cheeks, to little success. She still looked like she was playing dress up, but she was the best and most beautiful woman in the world and Merlin would kill the person who said otherwise.

"Just… a little problem," Merlin said with a chuckle, not wanting to bother her.

"A problem that requires Gaius?"

Merlin shook his head. "No, of course not!" Actually, he'd been planning on seeing Gaius about the bruise he could feel developing on his stomach. He didn't think anything was broken, but he wouldn't mind some kind of lotion to see if he could fix the discoloration.

"Merlin," his mother said, worry in her eyes, "you never will learn to lie. Tell me, or I'll just assume the worst."

Merlin put his hands on her shoulders, awkwardly reminded again of how much taller he was. It had been years, but he still couldn't quite get used to that last spurt of growth on occasion. His hands were larger too, he noted. "It's okay, Mother," he assured her. "I… had a bit of a run in with a few thugs, but Lancelot was there, and it was all okay. See? I'm fine!"

He spread his arms to make his point and smiled. She relaxed slightly.

"Also," he said with a laugh. "I got a new manservant."

"Not from among the staff, I suppose?" she guessed. "Please tell me he's not a complete stranger."

"He's a very helpful complete stranger, and I owe him a favor," Merlin said, swooping and kissing his mother on the cheek. "Hey, don't worry. I'm a good judge of character, aren't I?"

"Are you going to tell your father you didn't consult him first or shall I?"

Merlin's smile grew a little sickly. "I will."

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><p>It turned out that Balinor really wasn't all that upset with him. Perhaps that was because Merlin had good timing.<p>

For the past few weeks, Balinor had had a lot to deal with… A small group of Mundanes, one that supported Uther and his rebellion, had marched on Camelot, and Balinor had sent out his own men to take care of them. The enemy had been wiped out, but Balinor's men had suffered some injuries. Then Balinor had to deal with how to let the whole matter be presented to his people. The men that had been killed were dangerous, of course, but the death of a quite a few people was never pleasant, and Balinor had some king of ongoing paranoia about the people feeling sympathy for Uther.

As if that would ever happen. The largely-magical population knew how Uther had taken the death of his wife; a Purge, meant to wipe out the whole magical population of Camelot. If Balinor hadn't risen up with the dragons and dragonlords left – as well as all the power of the angry Old Religion behind him – he could have wiped out most of magic.

Then, the people behind him, Balinor had taken the throne and set about making sure magic was never alienated. He found Hunith, whom he'd had to leave behind in order to fight Uther, brought her to the palace, married her – just in time, too, from the servant's gossip – and set about drumming all of those who wouldn't agree to practice the Old Religion.

The people would never side with Uther and his New Religion's ideals.

But it still stressed Balinor. Now, though, all of that was over, and Uther had been pushed back again, and another search was on for the rebel. Balinor had just eaten, and he wasn't in the mood to be angry at his only son.

"Good," Balinor said. "I'm glad you decided to take things in your hands for once. Independence is good. You'll be a good king someday, Merlin."

Merlin tried not to let his eyes fall from his head and demand to know what this person had done with his father. "I'm glad you're pleased, Father. All the same, I thought I should tell you so you wouldn't have to worry about finding me another servant."

"Thank you. Have you eaten already?"

"Uh, yes, Father. I ate, thank you."

"No problem. How are the knights coming?"

Merlin was still standing uncomfortably in the middle of the throne room, facing his father. "Oh, good," he said. "I've left Lancelot in charge of a lot of their training, because he's got a good eye and he's quite a teacher. Training is going much smoother." Training was not one of Merlin's favorite subjects. It was humiliating. He could handle a sword, of course—he _was_ a prince. But not in armor, and not with much finesse. His father never could understand that, being a stocky man. But Merlin had gotten his lanky frame from his mother's side.

Luckily magic was usually better than swords. Usually. Most knights were abysmal at magic anyway. Perhaps brawn blocked spells.

"Lancelot has been a useful recruit," Balinor said, nodding. "I'm glad you discovered him."

Merlin smiled a little timidly. He did like when his father was in good mood.

"Lancelot's a good man," Merlin agreed awkwardly, and looked at the ground. "Will that be all?"

"Yes, thank you for coming to talk to me." And Balinor smiled at him, reminding Merlin that his father wasn't so bad after all.

After he left, Merlin shook his head. "Now, I'm independent. Sometimes I'm impulsive." He rolled his eyes.

Walking down the hall, he nearly ran into Nimueh and cringed. He couldn't stand the High Priestess. She'd been his tutor throughout most of his childhood, and she could be very bitter. Most people blamed it on the Purge. Those that were old enough to remember said that Uther had been one of her best friends, and he'd betrayed her and killed her friends. Personally, Merlin thought she must have just been born this way… Wait? Born? That would entail her being an infant. Merlin took it back. She must have popped into existence this way.

"Hello, Merlin," she said, and he smiled at her. His smiles disarmed most people.

She was not convinced. "Gotten yourself injured?"

She always knew. How did she always know? Could she see right through clothes? (Oh, he certainly hoped not…) "A little bruise," he said. "I got hit."

"Why haven't you taken care of it?"

He winced. "You know how I am with healing magic."

Her eyes narrowed and she reached out and placed a bony hand on his midsection. He shuddered inadvertently, and she snapped her eyes to him.

"Tickles," Merlin explained, shrugging apologetically.

"_Gwella_," she hissed, and her eyes glowed gold as the skin beneath his shirt began to heat and the soreness faded away. Then she pulled back and looked at him. "Perhaps you need to come back to my classes if you can't even handle all your magic enough to avoid a hit and heal a bruise."

"I'll certainly consider it," he said diplomatically, which everyone knew, of course, was the polite way of saying _"No way in hell."_

Nimueh raised an eyebrow, swished her dark red dress to the side, and left him standing in the hall.

Sighing, Merlin made his way to his chambers. In all honesty, he thought tiredly, he was looking forward to tomorrow. And not just because he could finally stop reminding people to bring him meals. But because Arthur seemed like a nice man who just might be able to supply the one thing Merlin was lacking—friendship. Mothers were mothers, and Balinor was king, Nimueh was frightening, and most of the knights were a good deal older than him. Lancelot was a good man, and Merlin liked him, but he was always busy and slightly stuffy.

Merlin needed someone who was with him a lot, someone to talk to. As was his nature, he was hoping for the best this time. He was hoping for a friend. Perhaps someone who could even teach him how to fight a little.

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><p><strong>AN: There, I thought it was about time I explained the past a bit. Hope you are enjoying. Not much action this chapter I know, but there was a lot next chapter, and I thought you needed to be introduced to Merlin's life. Please review! And do give advice if you feel like it. Comments in reviews are so helpful when it comes to fleshing out my story... I want to thank everyone who has given some so far! Really helpful!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Look, I'm sorry; I was attacked by this rabid original-story plot bunny, and… yeah… By the way, people, if anyone has any ideas or questions about how things work in my AU world, please ask in a review or PM! Sometimes I forget to put things in after I plan them, and the story wouldn't be complete if you didn't know, say, what happened to Freya! **

**Also: What is the New Religion? I assume it's Christianity, because this is the Middle Ages and all… But I guess it could be something else. I don't think it'll be necessary to go into that. I'm not even sure what the OLD Religion is, and they keep talking about it on the show…**

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><p>Arthur told himself that he didn't get nervous, but of course that wasn't true. He got nervous whenever they had another camp infiltrated or attacked. He got nervous whenever he learned of another loss suffered. He got nervous when Gwen cried because her father was executed by Balinor for refusing to practice the Old Religion and to believe in their gods.<p>

Now, he was about to walk right into the castle of Camelot, the home of his ancestors and the place where they now wanted his kind gone. It felt like suicide, and it made him nervous, much as he tried to deny it.

But his father was depending on him.

Arthur sighed and realized that he had been standing outside in the square in the morning light, staring like a bumpkin at the tall towers of the castle, for five full minutes. If he didn't hurry, he'd be late to his first day on the job. _That_ would make a good second impression.

He gathered his courage and walked purposefully across the square and into the open hallway wrapping around the outside of the castle. A few steps more and he slipped in the door. He was officially inside. So far, so good.

Now. Now… He didn't know. He wasn't sure how to find the prince, and this castle was a large place. What _should_ he do now?

He turned a complete circle, looking around and up and down. The walls were stone. The doors were wood. Occasionally there was a tapestry or vase. Really, all in all it was a repetitive place. He could see himself getting lost in this. But he had a pretty good sense of direction—he would figure it out pretty soon.

After a second of nothing coming to mind, he gave up. _Wander aimlessly until someone finds me it is, then. _

He walked down a hall, memorizing the way and trying to guess which way went where. To his immense irritation, he didn't pass anyone for another five minutes. By that time, he'd stopped being nervous about the first person seeing him screaming, _"Son of Uther! Execute him!" _and became more nervous that no one would ever find him.

And then, at last, a vision of salvation approached. She was a pale woman that probably should use rouge less generously, but she wore a fine dress that he would probably rip by _looking_ at, never mind touching. She was approaching and made as though to walk right past Arthur. He felt distantly sorry about interrupting her.

"Excuse me?" he said. "Excuse me. I'm sorry."

She looked at him in surprise. "Hello," she said, sounding shocked that he was addressing her. Great ladies probably weren't used to giving directions.

"I'm new," Arthur said. "And I can't find my way around. I'm supposed to report for work this morning, but I can't find Prince Merlin."

She blinked, and then his words registered, and she laughed, her eyes twinkling. Arthur felt set at ease at once. "Oh, yes, his new manservant. He mentioned you. I suppose you aren't from around here."

"No, my lady."

"I am Queen Hunith," the woman said, and Arthur immediately dropped into a bow. He knew who Queen Hunith was, of course. Most Mundanes did. She was the Mundane woman that the king had married when he first took the throne, and she was largely the reason the lack of magic was not punishable by death immediately. Now, thanks to her, it was only refusing to practice the Old Religion or having affiliations with the New one that could mean a death sentence. Sometimes, depending on the mood and the prejudice of the people, not using magic (or in that rarer case, not being able to use even a morsel of magic) could still mean an X-branding. But that was preferable to being dead.

Or so he'd heard.

Not that the different levels of punishment made much difference to someone in the rebellion as deep as Arthur was. Still, it was nice of her.

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty," he corrected himself. "I shouldn't have bothered you."

She smiled. "It's not a problem. I hope you're good at what you do." The pause she put after those words certainly gave Arthur a fright. He felt his heart rate speed up. But then she continued, "My son is a bit messy."

He didn't know how to respond with his heart still in his throat, so he bowed and waited for her to go on.

"Can you remember directions?" she asked kindly.

Did she think he was a simpleton now? Maybe he should have spoken up. Was he supposed to? Too late. "Yes, Your Majesty," he told her confidently.

She pointed down the hall she'd just come from, letting out a list of directions to the hall where Merlin slept. They were awfully trusting, Merlin and his mother. Arthur would never have given a man a job after one meeting or given him directions to where he could find a family member.

But then Arthur remembered the guards he'd seen posted everywhere. Maybe they could afford to be careless in a way he could not.

After she had repeated the way and he had nodded and thanked her, he gave one last (very deep) bow and went on his way.

He followed her directions to the letter, managing not to get lost. After a few minutes, he'd found the right hall—and indeed, there were guards in it. The sight of them made Arthur's hands sweat.

He strolled down the hall, pretending that he didn't even notice them, and went up to the door that was probably the prince's. _I'm going to feel pretty foolish if this isn't his chambers. _He lifted his hand to knock.

Then the door opened and Arthur had to stop himself mid-knock, almost digging his knuckles into Merlin's face.

Merlin stepped back, as surprised as anyone would be to walk out their door and nearly ram into a fist. Arthur hurriedly put his hand down.

"I'm late," Arthur said, taking in the sight of Merlin. His hair was sticking up and his shirt was slightly askew.

"Ah," said Merlin, recovering. "Yes. A bit."

"The castle is big," Arthur replied by way of explanation. "I couldn't really find my way around at first."

Merlin waved his hand. "Yes, I realized that. It's my fault; I should have been clearer whenever I talked to you. It slipped my mind that you wouldn't know your way around the castle." He stopped and cocked his head to the side. "Actually, how did you manage to find your way here at all?"

"I ran into the Queen," Arthur said. "She gave me directions."

Merlin seemed to realize that they were still standing in the doorway, and he stepped out of it into the hall. As he started down the corridor, walking like he had somewhere to be, Arthur fell into step behind him.

"Then you met my mother. What did you think of her?"

Arthur stared at the back of Merlin's head. What kind of trick question was _that_? "She was very… queenly," he replied, and Merlin chuckled.

"Wise answer," Merlin said. Of course it was. Arthur was hardly in a position to have an opinion on the queen. That he shared in public, anyway. His own private opinion was hardly about to be voiced.

"I suppose you'll have to follow me around today," Merlin said. "Sorry about that, but it'll help you learn your way around. Do you think a day will be sufficient?"

"To learn my way around?"

"Yes."

"Oh, yes. If I have any other questions, I'll ask one of the servants."

"Good," Merlin said. "Servants know everything."

They did, didn't they? Servants. The unseen ears of the castle… That would be where Arthur's research would start. He'd spy around and find the most knowledgeable gossipmongers and ask them a few choice questions.

Feeling triumphant, Arthur asked, "Where are we heading now?"

Merlin looked back with a smile on his face. "My favorite part of the day," he said.

"And that is?"

"Training!"

Arthur looked Merlin up and down for the second time that morning, trying to repress his disbelief. Sure, Merlin wasn't _tiny_ – he'd seen smaller men – but he was hardly a pinnacle of muscular strength. Maybe he hid it well, but still… "Really?" he asked. "You mean… with a sword?"

Merlin chuckled. "No, not that kind of training. Sorry, keep forgetting you aren't from here. I'm horrible with swords—you could probably defeat me." Arthur probably could, too, but not because Merlin was weak. "No, I mean the other kind of training."

Merlin was enjoying this too much to just say it. Perhaps dragging things out to make you ask more questions like an idiot was something nobles taught their young to do. "What other kind of training?"

"The other part of the army," Merlin said. "The sorcerers' unit training."

Arthur's heart dropped right into his boots. The smile fell from his face like a stone sinking through water. Magic. The force that was the cause of his problems. Walking among sorcerers was one thing. Now Merlin wanted him to go where there were many of them, all practicing at once?

Even the knife at his side hidden by his baggy shirt gave him no comfort to combat that thought.

He cleared his throat. "Oh," he said. _Act natural. You'll get used to this soon. It's the same as moving to a new campsite. It's scary and unnatural, but you get used to it. Every moment could be your last, but you get used to it. _

He felt a little calmer when he continued with an easy laugh. "Oh, right. I should have guessed that! Most powerful recorded sorcerer in the recorded kingdoms, right?"

Merlin looked pleased with the compliment. "I guess I have a reputation to precede me!"

Arthur smiled in return. Prince Merlin seemed easygoing enough. As long as he didn't decide to use new manservants as target practice for magic spells…

As Arthur looked up, though, a figure flitted across his sight, and his eyes went wide as he was completely shocked for the second time in so many minutes.

Merlin noticed this time, because he was looking in Arthur's direction. "What is it?" he asked, turning his head in time to see her disappear past the window of sight where the hallways crossed. "Oh," he said. "Her."

Arthur looked at him.

Merlin was smiling knowingly. "She's very pretty, isn't she?"

"Yes," Arthur said, glad for an excuse to be startled. "Yes, she is."

"I wouldn't even think about it, though," Merlin said, turning and continuing to walk with Arthur behind him. "You wouldn't get along very well, I bet."

Well, he had that right, to a certain extent.

Arthur was positive of what he'd seen. There was almost no chance he was mistaken, unless he was seeing things. But all the same, he had to ask. "What's her name?" he asked, realizing belatedly that it might sound a little impertinent.

Merlin didn't seem to notice. "Morgana," he said.

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><p><strong>AN: Alright. Well, it's turning into a bit of talky story. Is anyone getting bored? There will definitely be action in this story (really), but I want to know if I should hurry it up. And like I asked in the beginning, any suggestions or reminders? **


	6. Chapter 6

"This is the best place in the castle," Merlin told Arthur as they walked in. On the outside, it looked just like another door leading to a room. On the inside… it wasn't actually much different. The room was large and made of stone, bigger than the council room, and also…

"It's missing a wall," Arthur said. "Where's the fourth wall?"

Merlin chuckled. "We knocked that out. See, now we have some room outside… The area's fenced in."

Arthur spared a moment to think of the look on his father's face if Uther learned that the magic-users had knocked down part of his castle. But the should-be prince, not having grown up here, couldn't find it in himself to be all that angry.

He looked around again. On one side of the room, there was a rack full of stones and rocks and different kinds of gems and jewelry. On the other, a patch of the floor appeared to be made of earth and not stone. Both extremes of the room/yard were occupied by a row of dummies facing each other, hanging like beaten up scarecrows on sticks. One line was located inside the walls; the other was under the sky.

Several other people – mostly men, but Arthur spotted a woman holding one of the gems – were in the room, loitering or talking. But at the moment, nothing much was happening.

"Okay, I give up. Why is it the best place in the castle?" he said at last.

Merlin laughed. "Maybe not for everyone," he admitted, "but it's the best place for magic. You can do whatever you like in here."

"Can't you use magic anywhere?" Arthur asked, confused.

"Mostly," Merlin responded. "But you have to be careful. You can't just shoot off fireworks every time you want to. What if you hit someone coming down the hall? No, everywhere else you have to restrain yourself. Not in here."

Arthur found that, in a twisted way, he understood that. Walking around camp with a sword, you had to be careful. You couldn't just swing it around like a toy. But when you were training or fighting—then you could just _perform._ Maybe magic was similar. It had to be used responsibly.

It was just more dangerous.

"Watch this," said Merlin. "Incoming!" he shouted to anyone who might be near. Then he turned and lifted his arms, bending his elbows and cupping his hands in front of his chest. Bringing one of his feet forward, he pushed his arms outward. His eyes flashed gold.

A bright flash of light suddenly flickering into existence in Merlin's hands nearly blinded Arthur. The light, holding itself together like a physical thing, sped through the air and crashed into the dummy across from him in the sunlight. The dummy seemed to rock backward with the force and burst immediately into bright blue flames.

Arthur swallowed. Again his mind seemed to take up that annoying mantra. _Whatever happens, this episode is going to end with me dying. _He told himself to shut up.

The look on Merlin's face was euphoric. He looked free, like Arthur felt whenever he defeated someone soundly. "See?" he said. "This place is for big stuff."

"That was… certainly big," Arthur said. "Destructive."

"Don't worry, the dummies are made for that," Merlin said, and waved his hand. He hadn't even used an incantation, but the fire disappeared. The dummy looked only slightly charred. It was smoking but mostly unharmed.

"What about… smaller stuff?" Arthur asked.

"I usually save the small stuff for when I'm not supposed to be practicing. Artistic stuff is best saved for free time… Or to impress women," he said with a smile.

Arthur laughed, and it wasn't even faked. An image came of the gangly prince leaning against a woman's counter like Gwaine did, flirting and making sparks appear.

Merlin laughed too. "Speaking of which," he said, suddenly serious, looking hopeful. "I don't suppose… Do you know how to make strawberries?"

"Strawberries?"

"Yeah, they give me so much trouble. Look…" He held his hands to his face and whispered words that Arthur couldn't follow. But when he pulled them away, an apple was in his hand. "Not strawberries! At least it's fruit this time." He looked at the apple for a second as though wondering what to do with it. "Do you want an apple?"

"Um, no. And no, I can't do strawberries. I can't do much, remember…"

Merlin shrugged and his eyes flashed gold. The apple was reduced to ashes. Arthur watched with undisguised interest. He'd heard that Prince Merlin was ridiculously talented, but creating fruit out of nothing was supposed to be nigh-on impossible.

"This is to impress a woman?" Arthur asked.

"She really likes strawberries," Merlin told him mournfully.

"She'll only pay attention to a prince if he can make strawberries, I suppose?" Arthur guessed, raising his eyebrows.

Merlin chuckled. "It's not that she doesn't like me or anything, but I would like to make her those strawberries. She'd be really happy with them. They'd be a good get-well present…" He turned away. "Anyway, I should get to practicing."

"Who all practices in here?" Arthur asked.

"All the sorcerers we have in our army. If we need to fight, we usually mix them in with the sword-fighters." He grinned. "We're undefeatable," he said with no little pride.

_He could crush our rebellion by himself. Good thing they can't catch us. Good thing he's not long for this world. _But that last thought made Arthur uncomfortable, and he pushed it aside.

Merlin looked at Arthur. "You can use some of the amulets if you want," he said. "Or you can just follow me around. Usually when I'm here you'd be polishing armor or something, but since you don't know where anything is yet…"

Arthur nodded. "I'll just follow you around," he said.

Merlin walked away, towards several people standing near the floor of earth. Arthur followed him. He thought he was doing pretty well at this whole espionage lark. No one had found him out, he had avoided Morgana, and he wasn't drawing attention to himself…

Just then, the pit of earth decided to randomly combust and turn into a pillar of fire about three inches from Arthur's leg. He squawked and jumped away from it so fast he nearly left his pants behind.

Merlin's friends began to laugh uproariously at the panic on his face, and even the prince smothered a snicker.

Well, he was doing _passably_ well at this whole espionage lark.

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><p>It wasn't until later, when they had gone into Merlin's chambers and Merlin was showing Arthur where things went, that the prince brought up the subject of sleeping arrangements.<p>

"I don't like having people in the antechamber," Merlin explained. "I usually have servants go home or to the servant's quarters, but you don't have a home or a place in the quarters, do you?"

"I could go back to the Rising Sun."

"Too far away. I need to be woken up early; you don't really want to trudge through the streets when you can't see, do you?"

"Well, what can I do then?"

Merlin pressed his lips together. "I think my last manservant already has had his cot taken, so I can't set you up there."

"Who is in charge of staff in the castle?"

"Oh, Nimueh, but I try to avoid her. Morgana is right under her, and she might help… But I have a better idea! Gaius has an extra room."

"Gaius?" Arthur felt uncomfortable again. He knew that name. A traitor.

"The Court Physician. He has a room above his chambers that he could rent out. It would be cheaper than the Rising Sun anyway, and all you'd have to do would be to keep it clean and occasionally give it up for someone too distraught to be taken home."

"That sounds… fine…" Would Gaius recognize him? Well, he supposed he might as well find out. He would have to meet the physician sooner or later. Besides, for all he'd switched sides during the Purge and allowed the Counter-Purge to take place, Arthur had heard that he hadn't turned over anyone who refused to practice the Old Religion. Even if he did recognize the son of Uther, he might not call him out on it.

After a reluctant pause, Arthur asked, "He doesn't use it?"

"He has a house nearly next door to it with his wife, Alice. He rarely needs it since Edwin left."

There was a knock at the door. A woman's knock, polite and dainty but loud.

Did Merlin entertain women in his chambers often? Arthur didn't dare ask. He knew it didn't seem to be any of his business—but Arthur knew that actually, knowing who would be in Merlin's room at what hours (and in what state of dress) would be invaluable knowledge for a servant, who would need to know when to be in the chambers and when to be scarce.

Merlin glanced at the door lazily. He was sitting at the table opposite from where his bed sat; a table which was the focal point of this half of the room. "Come in," he called. "Oh, Arthur, see those knives? I always keep them in that corner, by the vase."

Arthur moved to put the knives where they belonged as the door opened behind him.

"Morgana!" Merlin called happily. "Sit down, have some wine."

Arthur's insides froze. He had two thoughts at almost the exact same time. The first: _How can I get out of here without her seeing me? _The second, almost as important: _What is she doing coming to a man's chambers without even a chaperone? It better be an emergency…_

"Good afternoon, Merlin," she said musically, and from the sound of it, she pulled up a chair and let the prince pour her a glass of wine. "How are you?"

"Great," he said enthusiastically. "It's been a slow day, haven't had too much work. Training my new servant. How about you?"

Arthur hadn't moved yet. Maybe if he just stood still, she wouldn't notice him standing there. Maybe Merlin would be so busy talking to her that he wouldn't call Arthur over.

"I've been fine, rather bored, actually. Morgause was talking to me earlier, but then she had to go, and my new maidservant doesn't really have the… capacity for conversation." Arthur knew without looking that Morgana was making some sort of joking gesture, probably pointing at her head and miming emptiness. Her face would be one of glee at the chance to mock someone.

"Perhaps she's terrified of you," Merlin suggested innocently, sounding like he was taking a sip of his own wine.

At least, Arthur thought, this wasn't sounding very romantic. He wasn't sure he'd be able to handle that.

"Actually," Morgana said, ignoring that, "I came to ask about the attacks on the villages that seem to be getting worse from what I've heard. You haven't caught anybody yet?"

"No," Merlin said regretfully.

Arthur was beginning to feel awkward, standing like a statue and hovering over the knives. But he closed his eyes and prayed that this ended soon, that Morgana stood up and left…

Merlin continued, "We think, from the kind of swift violence that's been reported, the attackers are Mundanes. We haven't heard of anything vaguely magical, and it does supply a motive. They aren't doing enough damage to be another's country army coming through, unless this is some sort of trap or trick."

Morgana sighed. "That's what I was afraid of," she said sadly. "It's not doing much for your father's peace of mind, is it? Must the blame always be on the Mundane?"

There was a second where no one spoke. Arthur was a little lost. He hadn't heard of any attacks… His father certainly wasn't carrying them out. Pestering towns like a gnat wasn't his style. Was there another group, a rebellion he hadn't heard of?

Merlin seemed to feel they were treading on dangerous territory. He changed the subject. "Yesterday," he said lightheartedly, "I went for a walk and picked up a new staff member! You haven't met him yet; Arthur…"

Arthur flinched.

"Arthur, come over here."

He didn't have a choice.

Arthur winced and turned around slowly, trying not to let his trepidation show. He walked over to the table, head down, looking at the floor. But he was going to face this head on, he decided, and lifted his face as Morgana turned to look at him.

Her green eyes met his blue ones.

The goblet slipped from her grasp and fell to the floor with a clatter, red liquid splashing out of its container and spreading out over the floor.

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><p><strong>AN: There we go, actually got that chapter out in time! What did you think? Got some more characters mentioned, and a pretty important plot point brought up for the first time…**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: So. We're at review number 99. Eep. Very exciting! I was going to wait to update until it was 100, but then I realized that wasn't going to happen and that I had better update and get on with it all :) **

**By the way, anon asked me for pairings. There won't be a whole lot of romance, by the way, but there will be at least mentioned as follows: Arwen, Freya/Merlin, and perhaps some very slight Mergana. So mostly canon, but with some Mergana. There will not be ArMor, anon!**

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><p>Morgana gasped in shock, her eyes frozen on Arthur. He flinched, waiting for her to say his name and give him away.<p>

Merlin didn't notice her surprise, for his head whipped around to follow the fallen goblet, now running over the stones of his floor, gathering in the cracks. He stood up a little suddenly, his gaze pulling back to Morgana.

"What?" he asked, because there wasn't anything else he could say.

That word seemed to jolt her, and she stood and turned around to look at the mess she'd made. "Oh, Merlin!" she said. "I'm so sorry; I didn't mean to spill it! I must be getting overtired." Her eyes flickered back to Arthur, still wide. But she didn't say his name. She didn't completely blow his cover.

He relaxed for the first time since she'd entered the room.

"Don't worry about it," Merlin said. "Everyone does it sometimes. Arthur, would you clean it up?"

"Where…?"

Merlin pointed to the spot near his door where a pile of dirty clothes was sitting. "There should be a cloth in there, I remember it… I'm going to have you bring those down tonight and clean the floor tomorrow anyway, so just mop it up for now." He turned his attention away from Arthur as the blond man walked across the room and motioned for Morgana to sit down again. "Are you alright?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she assured him, waving her hand as she sank back in her seat.

"You look pale. Are you sick?" He sounded sincerely worried about the woman Arthur considered a sister, and the outlaw couldn't help but warm a little to the lanky prince. Looking back over his shoulder surreptitiously, Arthur saw that Merlin had his hand over Morgana's, and his eyebrow twitched as most of the warmth dissipated. He grabbed the dirty cloth and headed back across the room.

He knelt beside Morgana's chair and began to pat at the wine, letting it soak into the fabric.

"No," she said. "I told you, I'm probably just a little overtired. I turned around, and your servant was just right there…" She laughed as though to say, _Look at me, look how silly I am._ "He startled me."

She cast a quick look at Arthur, and he lifted his eyes to hers for a second, wondering if she could read the gratitude on his face. He hoped not—if she could, so could Merlin.

"Perhaps you should go to bed, then," Merlin said, still sounding a bit concerned.

"It's a bit early for that," she said with a laugh that didn't quite sound natural. "It's only dinner time!" Arthur wished that she would stop sending glances his way. Merlin was definitely going to become suspicious if she kept that up.

"Perhaps a nap then," Merlin suggested. "Do you want me to escort you back to your room?"

"I promise you I'm not about to faint," she said pleasantly, placing her hand over Merlin's—again. They kept doing that. Arthur wished they would stop.

It wasn't that he cared, particularly, who Morgana went and gave her heart to (except that he was basically her _brother_, and so of course he cared!), but he would prefer that she not fall for the man he was supposed to be milking for information and then killing. Again, the discomfort squirmed in his stomach.

She stood up. "I'll make it back on my own, thank you. It was good talking to you, Merlin." She turned around so she was facing Arthur, who was now standing up with his hands around the sopping cloth. "It was nice to meet you, Arthur."

"Thank you, milady," he answered, bowing. When he looked up, her eyebrow was raised. He understood her completely, and gave the tiniest of nods.

She curtsied quickly and shallowly in Merlin's general direction, and then swept out of the room with her fine dress rippling behind her. The last time Arthur had seen her, her dress had been rags. The door closed behind her as Arthur watched. For a second, there was silence in the room except for the breathing of the two young men.

"I know," Merlin said. "She's lovely. Very headstrong, though. Father adores her, has practically adopted her."

Arthur turned around and looked at Merlin's face. His eyes were clear, not glazed, but he was smiling slightly. That could mean nothing. He gritted his teeth and leaned forward.

"With all due respect, Sire," he said slowly, and Merlin looked up at him expectantly. "Was she the one who liked strawberries?"

Merlin's eyebrows drew together for a second before he remembered. "Oh," he said, leaning back. "No, she's not. That's Freya. I met her several years ago, maybe about two. She's a peasant girl. She's nothing like Morgana."

Arthur kept his triumphant smile to himself. Morgana was safe, then. "She lives in Camelot?" Arthur asked idly.

"No," Merlin said. "Not anymore. I wish she did. Freya's cursed, you see." Merlin sat back and shook his head, not seeming to mind spilling his thoughts to a near stranger. Arthur got the distinct feeling he didn't talk to many people. "She turns into a giant cat sometimes, and she was worried about being dangerous, but my mother knew of a place where they knew of magic that could help her recuperate. She's doing better. She doesn't always change now, and they hope she'll be completely free of the curse before too long." He sighed. "But I only get to see her once every few months. It's strenuous magic they practice there."

Once every few months? Morgana wasn't safe. Arthur sighed and looked down at the cloth in his hands thoughtfully.

Merlin seemed to notice it, too, and sat up straighter, pulling himself back into the present. "Please bring the clothes down to the laundry room. It's near the kitchen…"

"You showed me the kitchen at lunch," Arthur said, nodding.

"Good. After you do that, bring up dinner. Yours will be in the kitchen; you're supposed to eat it there." He gave commands with the easy, confident air that Arthur had to respect.

"Yes, Sire," he said, nodding like a knight accepting his orders.

"And after that, I'll take you to Gaius and introduce you," Merlin said, and waved in dismissal to indicate to Arthur that he could go.

Arthur nodded, picked up the clothes, and started for the door, grabbing the handle before Merlin's voice stopped him.

"Arthur."

Arthur turned around. "Sire?"

"Thank you for listening," Merlin said, and smiled before he returned to his wine cup.

Arthur didn't turn away for a second, caught unaware.

_You wouldn't think, _Arthur thought to himself with an unexpected flash of sympathy, _that a prince would have to thank someone for listening. _Being royalty would doubtless be lonely. Thinking of Gwen, Elyan, Gwaine, Leon, and his other friends, Arthur didn't think he would trade his own childhood for that of Merlin—constant fear and brushes with death included.

* * *

><p>Arthur closed the door when he left, arms full of dirty clothes for the laundresses. He took three steps down the corridor before he spotted her. Morgana stood at the end of the hall, her hands on her hips and her lips pursed, waiting.<p>

He glanced around, looking for another person, before he started for her. She jerked her head toward a room with a closed door, and then she slipped inside. Understanding, he looked around once more and then followed her.

He put the clothes down on the floor, looking around the room, which was cold and unused, but had a window that was flooding it with light. And unexpectedly he found himself with his arms full of Morgana.

"Arthur!" she whispered, hugging him tightly.

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and hugged her back, just as tightly. "Morgana," he said, pushing her back and looking at her. "You look… nice."

She nodded. "You look more run down than you did when I left," she answered.

"New dresses," he said.

"No sword," she noted. She looked him up and down. "Why are you here, Arthur?" she asked in concern. Her voice got higher as that line appeared on her forehead. "Is it Uther? Is something wrong with him? Were you looking for me?"

"I wouldn't have even known where to start," Arthur said with a laugh. "All I had was what you said to us before you left—'Goodbye, I'm off to go join your enemies because I've discovered I have magic!' You nearly drove my father crazy…"

She glared at him. They never could get along for longer than a few seconds. "I said it a little more tactfully than that," she snorted in an unladylike manner. "And besides, Arthur, how could I pass it up? It was a chance to live within the law! To be free! What kind of choice is that?"

"Well, you could have stayed with us," he said, a little annoyed all at once. "Not sold out."

"I didn't tell them a word about you," she responded sharply. "That would have been suicidal! And like you would have done any differently!" She stopped. "Speaking of which, that brings me back to my question, doesn't it? What are you doing here, Arthur?"

Arthur took a deep breath. Did he trust her? Could he even think of a reasonable lie? She wouldn't believe that he was trying to live legally, not after the words they'd just exchanged. He decided part of the truth would work. "I'm spying," he said. "I'm spying on the people in Camelot, to try to learn some information for Father."

"What kind of information?"

"Any kind," Arthur answered. "Care to help me with that?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Are you telling the truth?"

"Yes…" he said, watching her in confusion as her hand reached around him slowly, but he didn't realize until her hand was on his hip that she knew his trick for hiding weaponry in his clothes.

She pulled out the dagger that his father had entrusted to him, and she cocked her eyebrow at him again, mouth set in a disbelieving line.

"For protection," Arthur said, and took it back from her grasp.

"Are you sure?" she said, her voice icy. "Merlin is a good man, Arthur. What are you playing at? Don't you dare hurt him!" She clutched his arm, looking dangerous.

"Why?" Arthur snapped, pulling back and stepping away from her. The room felt warmer, now. He was flushed with anger. "Because you _fancy_ him?"

She rolled her eyes. "What are you, ten? Arthur, if you hurt him…" She pointed at him, as though she was threatening him, and he stiffened. "They'll catch you," she continued. "I don't want you to die. And I don't want him to get hurt because of some silly plan of Uther's…"

"You can certainly talk!" he said. "You can tell me what I can and can't do, and you're perfectly safe and happy, but Morgana, I am trying to do something for my people whenever I follow my father's orders. I am trying to make the world safe for people like us, to follow the religion and the lifestyle we choose."

"What do you think I've been doing?" she nearly shouted, but remembered that they could be overheard if she was too loud and kept her voice lower. "Do you think I've been sitting on a cushion and eating sweets since I came to Camelot? I'm trying to make the world safe for you, too! I'm talking to Merlin, to the king; I'm trying to convince them to be lenient, to accept other ideas! You realize overthrowing the government is not the only way to make choices, don't you? One day, Mundanes could be fully legalized, and then if Uther would apologize, he would be granted clemency…"

Arthur scoffed, putting his head back and staring in derision.

She blushed and flared up. "Well, it's what I'm trying for," she shot back. "But it isn't easy, what with you and your father alienating yourselves! Like with those attacks on the towns! The people will think you're monsters, and what does that accomplish?"

Arthur's eyebrows drew together and he forgot to be angry. "We aren't doing that," he said.

She faltered. "You aren't?"

"Of course not," he said. "Like you said, what would that accomplish? Father has a purpose for the things he decides to do. We're not that desperate, not quite yet."

She shook her head. He had gotten her off track again. "Look, Arthur, just don't do something stupid that can't be fixed," she ordered him.

"Or what?" he said, angry once more. "Will you tell them about me?"

She froze again, looking into his eyes. For a second, she could picture herself doing it—marching up to Merlin or King Balinor and telling them who Arthur was. But that would only end one way.

Even if Arthur was here to undo everything she'd worked so hard to build, she realized, she was stuck.

She shook her head, looking Arthur straight in the eye. "No," she said. "But I'm going to be watching you, Arthur."

He smiled, not convinced – he knew he'd won – and slipped the knife back into his clothes. "I missed you, Morgana. I was afraid you'd gotten yourself killed in Camelot. Father missed you too."

"And I missed you," she admitted, her head still up and her gaze still defiant. She hadn't missed Uther, with his rants and his tempers, and she wasn't going to pretend otherwise.

Arthur seemed to realize that. He smiled sadly before he slipped out the room again to complete his chores, leaving her behind with a developing headache.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Please review?**


	8. Chapter 8

Arthur walked back to Merlin's chambers, bearing a tray with the prince's dinner, checking off the list in his head as he went, nodding to himself.

So he knew where they trained their sorcerers, which were mixed in with the sword-fighting portion of the army.

He knew they were having a problem with towns being attacked, but he didn't know who was doing the attacking. Mundanes were blamed, but it wasn't Uther's people, that was for sure.

He knew Morgana was trying to change things, but he didn't know how much success she was having.

He knew that the prince was lonely. He wasn't quite sure when he'd realized that, but he was positive that it was true. Merlin was lonely.

It wasn't bad for his first day of spying.

Not extremely secret stuff, though—still, it was something. And it wasn't like he could go around and ask for information. He was in a good place for learning things, but he'd have to take it slow.

But not too slow. There was no exact time limit, but Arthur could feel the clock ticking nonetheless. He knocked on the door to Merlin's chambers and didn't hear a reply. He knocked again.

He rolled his eyes and pushed the door open.

Merlin was still sitting at that table, and Arthur supposed it was a favorite spot of his, although he did have a desk across the room. He was hunched over, reading a scroll intently, and didn't look up until Arthur closed the door behind himself. The sharp sound startled the prince, causing him to sit up like he'd been violently poked.

"Don't you knock?" Merlin snapped, still looking caught off guard, as he hastily rolled the scroll closed.

Arthur raised his eyebrows. "I do knock, Sire. Twice. But you didn't answer."

"Oh," Merlin said. "Oh. Well, knock louder, if you please. You startled me."

Arthur nodded, nonplussed. Sure, people got irritable after they'd been startled—he understood that feeling; he remembered the pranks Morgana would play on him in childhood. But it seemed to him that Merlin, who'd been unfailingly cheerful (annoyingly so, Arthur would say if the man was anyone but a prince) since they met, wouldn't be the sort of person to react that way. And after all, they had met while Merlin was being jumped.

It was probably the paper. There was probably something on that scroll that Arthur wasn't supposed to see; that's why he shut it so quickly.

"Doing some reading?" Arthur asked calmly.

Merlin's hand moved to rest on top of the scroll. "Yes," he said after a moment. "I was."

Arthur shrugged and put the food down on the table. "Do you usually eat here?" he asked, silently determining that he was going to get a look at that scroll.

"Oh, here's as good a place as any," Merlin said, smiling again, pushing the scroll out of the way. Arthur reached for it, to bring it out of the way of the meal, but Merlin waved a dismissive hand. "Don't touch it," he said, and Arthur smiled and withdrew his hand, seething inwardly.

"Sorry I took so long getting back," Arthur said, by way of changing the subject.

"Don't worry," Merlin replied. "I had some work to do anyway; I got caught up. Well, almost. After I eat, I'll take you to meet Gaius, okay? And then you can help me prepare for bed."

"Yes, Sire," Arthur said.

"Tomorrow, I suppose I'll be back to my normal schedule, so I'll give you chores at the beginning of the day. I'm sorry my old manservant isn't still here to help you learn, but getting married… I couldn't really ask him to stay." Merlin grinned, partly with amusement and partly with wistfulness. Arthur wondered if he was thinking of a day when he would be married.

But Merlin couldn't know that one of them, Arthur or Merlin, wouldn't be alive long enough to get married. _Well,_ he thought sourly, _I'm all sorts of cheerful today, aren't I?_

As always when the subject of marriage came up, Gwen's dark face came unbidden to his mind. There was something really sad about this whole situation.

Arthur hated things that were deep and sad. He much preferred everything to be all-business. Not emotional. Stoic and manly. Arthur could do stoic and manly, but not touchy-feely.

Merlin finished eating as Arthur thought the brooding thoughts and tried to stop himself. If Merlin wasn't standing right in front of him, the should-have-been royal would have been smacking himself on the forehead over and over again to get it to work correctly. As it was, all he could do was stew until Merlin finally pushed the remainder of his food aside and stood up. "Well," he said, perky. "Ready to meet Gaius?"

Arthur raised his eyebrows. "Yes, Sire," he said distractedly, still thinking morbid thoughts and also of the scroll, which he had been expressly ordered not to touch. That could make it difficult if he was caught looking at it…

"He doesn't bite," Merlin said, mistaking his preoccupation for nerves. "Except for that one time, but that was just the spirit trying to take over his mind." He laughed, then the smile dropped and he shook his head as though in wonder. "Gaius tends to get in trouble a lot, which you wouldn't expect from an old man, would you?"

"I suppose anyone who's lived that long must be good at getting out of trouble too."

Merlin shrugged. "I've never thought about that. Come on, then." He made his way to the door and opened it, striding out into the hall.

One of the things that Merlin had never mentioned to him, but Arthur had realized over the course of the day, was that he was supposed to walk behind the prince. It was probably a show of respect, he figured, and he didn't mind, but Merlin was making it difficult to do. He kept waiting for Arthur to catch up whenever the blond man fell a bit behind.

"Arthur, you are very slow, did you know?" Merlin said with a sigh.

Arthur looked at him, trying not to look too annoyed (and he knew he was failing). It occurred to him that Merlin might have forgotten to mention this on purpose, so at last he gave up and walked next to Merlin.

"I've never been informed of that, Sire, no," Arthur said politely.

"You are," Merlin told him sagely, falling in step next to him.

Arthur tried to keep a straight face as he replied drily, "I appreciate you informing me."

* * *

><p>Gaius seemed like a nice old man.<p>

When Merlin walked in, he looked up and his face lit up. "Merlin!" he greeted the prince, dispensing with titles. "You look well! I trust you have been feeling better?"

"Fine, Gaius," Merlin said, smiling.

"Did the lotion reduce the bruises as I hoped?"

"Oh, yes, thank you," Merlin said, nodding, and now that Gaius was satisfied that his patient was indeed well and whole, he turned his eyes to Arthur.

At camp they occasionally had a physician. They'd had a physician with them a few years ago, and Arthur had liked him very much. However, he had been killed brutally by a bunch of knights who came across him. Arthur had cried, and they hadn't had a healer staying with them since that. One was hard to come by for Mundanes; nowadays, most doctors practiced magic. And they tended to be poor fighters whenever they didn't have magic.

Luckily, even the magic ones could be persuaded to help (without using magic, which Uther would not hear of) them without turning them in. That Hippocratic Oath was a real life-saver, as Gwaine said, laughing at his own joke. That time that Arthur got himself injured running from Camelot's guards, the man that Leon had gotten him to hadn't asked questions when he was asked to set a broken bone without magic.

Arthur noticed all the characteristics of a medical man. Gaius had quick eyes that looked Arthur up and down as though checking for injuries. His hands twitched at his sides, ready to be active. He was hunched, probably from years of reading and bending over tables.

Then Gaius smiled. "Who is this?" he asked.

Merlin's grin was bright like the sun as he drew Arthur forward. "Gaius, this is the man who saved my life yesterday. Arthur, this is Gaius, our physician and practically my second father."

Gaius shook Arthur's hand whenever the younger man offered his. "It's nice to meet you, um, Gaius," Arthur said, nodding and holding his head up whenever he met a new renegade.

"And you as well, Arthur," Gaius replied. "Have you ever been to Camelot before? You look very familiar." His eyes were narrowed.

Arthur swallowed. "No, I haven't," he said. "This is my first time. And it's turning out to be very exciting."

"Yes," Gaius said slowly, not quite trustfully. "Yes, Camelot is always a bustle of activity."

"Gaius, I was wondering if Arthur could make use of that room you have above here. He needs a place to sleep close by, and you know I hate to have people in the antechamber." (The way he said that, Arthur was going to have to rethink his dismissal of Merlin having lady visitors.) Merlin didn't notice Arthur's unconsciously quirked eyebrow as he went on, "And what you charge is lower than the rent for any inn, so you know, he could still have an income."

"Oh, is that why you're here," Gaius said, looking Arthur up and down again. This time he wasn't checking for injuries. "Well, I'd love to help you both, of course, but I'm not really positive that…"

"I swear I won't steal anything," Arthur promised. "I wouldn't know what to do with most of these things anyway."

Gaius thought about it, but at last he shrugged and nodded. "I would be pleased to know what the room was going to good use once more," he told them pleasantly. "There's already a bed in there," he told Arthur.

"Great!" Merlin said enthusiastically. As though he had actually doubted that Gaius would do what his prince requested. "Now that it's taken care of, Arthur, I'll show you how I get prepared for bed."

"I'm right behind you, Sire," Arthur answered him, stepping out of the physician's chambers behind Merlin and casting one last look over his shoulder.

Gaius was watching him go with his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

* * *

><p>"Here," Merlin was saying, "is where you lay the clothes out, and I'll change behind that screen."<p>

Arthur was only listening with half his attention. He was also thinking to himself that he would need to bring Merlin's tray back down the kitchens before going to Gaius's chambers to sleep. And most importantly, he was thinking that the scroll was still sitting there on the table.

If it was so secret, Arthur wondered, why had Merlin left it lying there? Anyone could pick it up. But it had to be special, because Merlin had been alarmed that Arthur might see it.

"I understand," Arthur said, and Merlin nodded as he took the clothes and headed behind the dressing screen.

Time.

Arthur reached out in one fluid movement and grabbed the scroll, opening it quietly. He just managed to see that it was a map of the castle, a map of passages by the look of it, when he suddenly noticed that his hands were burning.

There was no flame, but there might as well have been. Heat flared up as though from the scroll, eating away at his hands, and he yelped as he dropped the paper onto the floor. It hit and rerolled itself, and Arthur turned his watering eyes to the sight of his reddened hands. It was not his imagination. They were stinging, burned.

"What is it?" Merlin asked, coming out from behind the screen, and Arthur realized he must have heard the yelp. There was no hiding it.

Merlin's hair was messed up, and he was still navigating the nightshirt down his torso, though he was still in his day trousers. He took in the sight of Arthur staring at his hands and the scroll on the floor and he sucked in his breath.

Arthur winced. "I… was just trying to move it, to clean up a bit, but it _burned_ me." He knew he looked lost right now, but he didn't try to hide his dismay. It would work to his advantage at this point.

"You didn't look inside, did you?" Merlin asked.

Arthur shook his head vehemently. "I didn't know…"

Merlin sighed and rubbed his face. "It's my fault," he said. "I should have told you. You can't touch those. There's a spell on them that burns anyone not authorized to touch it. You aren't to touch any papers unless I tell you to or you ask if it's safe first, okay? Are they bad?"

Arthur looked down at his hands. "I don't think so. They hurt. They're red."

Merlin nodded. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that. Look, go to Gaius and get him to put something on them and then go on to sleep, alright? There's not much more you can do today anyway." He really did look apologetic.

"But…" Arthur gestured to the tray on the table.

"Bring it down tomorrow when you wake me up. I need to be up about half an hour before sunrise, okay?"

Arthur closed his fists, but it hurt so badly that he had to open them again.

They had magical protection on their scrolls, he thought with a curse in his mind. And he hadn't even properly seen the scroll when he'd had the chance.

"Yes, Sire," he said, as docile as he could make himself be (which wasn't very; he did not make a good servant. Luckily Merlin didn't seem to mind). He bowed and headed for the door.

He resisted the urge to blow on his hands to try to cool them. He was burned, like the burns across Leon's chest. Burned by magic. For the first time in years, Arthur understood a little his father's hate for magic.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I described one of Arthur's movements as "unconscious". And called the Hippocratic Oath a life-safer. It made me laugh, okay? I know, I'm a riot. xD Kidding. This chapter was hard to write though, because next chapter might (might!) contain the dragon, and I want Arthur to meet that dragon. Review?**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: So, you like Naruto? You like Harry Potter? Cool, check out the crossover "The Sharper the Blade" by ShadowsBloodPain. Because I said so, I love her, and c'mon, who among you doesn't know how hard it is to get readers for a crossover?**

* * *

><p>Arthur flexed his hands. The stinging in Arthur's hands was much reduced by the morning, after spending the night with his hands wrapped in cloths soaked with a minty-smelling solution. They were still red, but he could use them without too much distress. When Gaius woke him up, Arthur put his shirt on and they took the cloths off.<p>

"Thank you, Gaius," he said, beaming at the lack of pain.

"Good. Don't touch abrasive objects more than you have to for a few days, and if they begin to hurt again, come back to me and I will put the herbs back on them. Now," Gaius said, jerking his head towards the door. "Breakfast is on the table. You'd best hurry, or you'll be late."

"Again," Arthur added, rubbing his head. "I bring breakfast up with me, right?"

Gaius raised an eyebrow as though to ask, 'How do you expect me to know?'

Arthur jumped out of bed and grabbed the cheese and small piece of bread on the table. "Is the price of this covered in my rent, or do I pay you back for food separately?" he asked.

"Rent will be fine," Gaius answered, watching him head for the door. "Unless you would rather pay me back with several chores?"

Arthur stopped at the open door and looked back, tilting an eyebrow. He was always interested in saving money.

"I'm running out of feverfew," Gaius explained. "After you finished with your chores today, could you collect some for me, out in the woods?"

Arthur licked his lips and considered briefly, doling out time inside his blond head. "I could do that," he agreed. "If you can tell me what feverfew looks like."

Gaius nodded. "Well, then," he said. "I shall see you again after work." He shooed the rebel out the door, and Arthur ducked his head and scrambled off to the kitchen. He collected the food hurriedly, though the cook interrogated him first to make sure he was not just some random peasant stealing food, but actually Merlin's new servant, and then had to practically run to make up for lost time. He knocked, received no answer, and nodded to the guards around the door as he pushed his way inside.

Merlin was snoring happily into his pillow. Arthur rolled his eyes – oh, that's why there was no answer – and put the food down at the foot of his bed, heading over to where Merlin's face could be seen.

The prince didn't look particularly old when he was awake, but somehow he appeared even younger in sleep. Gwen would've giggled and said he was cute. Of course, Arthur was a man, and as such, quite unaffected by any level of cuteness that may or may not have existed.

"Merlin?"

Merlin slept on.

Arthur nudged him. "Merlin? Merlin!" He finally just shook the man, and Merlin's eyes flickered open as he eyed Arthur with displeasure.

"Ugh," he said.

"I know, it's early, but it's time to be up," Arthur said. "I've got your breakfast."

At the word _breakfast,_ Merlin seemed to wake up a little more, sitting up and rubbing his eyes as he yawned. "Fine," he grumbled. "I'm up. I hate getting up." He wore a loose nightshirt with his normal trousers, and crawled across his bed sheets to reach his breakfast, still yawning. "Give me a minute," he said, taking a bite of a roll.

"What are you going to wear today, Sire?" Arthur asked, walking towards the wardrobe.

"Um, give me the red one with the lace," Merlin said. "I've got to talk to my father first thing, and then training… Not the magic kind." He groaned. "I wish I could go back to sleep."

"What does your father want to talk to you about?" Arthur asked casually, opening the wardrobe and searching for the right shirt.

Merlin stuffed some cheese in his mouth. "Probably the attacks," he said. "Surely you've noticed people talking about them?"

"Um, once or twice," Arthur said, finding the shirt and holding it up, triumphant. It was a finer material than he'd ever owned, but it didn't seem particularly fine next to Merlin's things.

Merlin peeled himself off the bed and headed for his changing screen, grabbing the shirt from Arthur. "It's been a bit preoccupying," he said honestly. "Truthfully, I'm as worried as anyone." He disappeared behind the changing screen, and a few seconds later he tossed his nightshirt over. Arthur grabbed it and had it folded when Merlin reappeared, wearing the red shirt.

"But later," he said, "I get to spend some time magic-training, and I guess that'll make up for the rest of the day."

Arthur smiled at him unreservedly before remembering that he was supposed to hate Merlin and stopping himself. Shame he was so blasted likeable.

* * *

><p>"We're sending all the supplies and money we can at the moment," Balinor said over the map sitting in front of him, looking up at Merlin. "We can't afford many more attacks. And we can't send help to places outside of our kingdom anymore."<p>

Merlin winced. "I hate to leave people without assistance."

"I as well," Balinor said with a sigh and a sip of wine. "But these attacks are becoming more than just a nuisance."

"If we could stop them," Merlin pointed out, "this wouldn't be a problem."

"We can't stop what we can't find," Balinor said. "For a group of Mundanes, they hide well."

"We just need to find them, then," Merlin said. "Perhaps you could ask Kilgharrah."

"The dragon is not a pack-mule, Merlin," Balinor snapped. Because, Merlin thought, looking off to the side at Arthur, who was standing quietly at the back of the room, Balinor couldn't just agree with any suggestion Merlin made.

"Of course not," Merlin said. "But if it saves lives, I think he could do some overhead searches, pass over a few forests."

In the corner, Arthur's heartbeat was quickening. He could think of so many ways that could end really badly for his side… They didn't have a dragon.

"A dragon is a dignified creature; no dragon, not even the one a dragonlord commands, would take kindly to your suggestion."

"You mean Kilgharrah is prouder than a peacock," Merlin said, looking at the ceiling so he wouldn't have to see his father's face redden. Before Balinor could explode, he added, "But perhaps you could talk to him. He might have already seen something."

Balinor shrugged. "The forests bear watching. And all Mundane families. Mundanes are a close-knit group. It's rare that they can be trusted."

_Ouch, _Arthur thought. _You're married to one, and the mother of the man you're talking to is a Mundane._ He didn't like Balinor. He didn't like the way he spat the word _Mundane_. It was the same way Uther said magic, but it was more annoying.

"Some are Mundanes by accident of birth," Merlin commented mildly. "We need to be careful to avoid offending any followers of the Old Religion." He sounded like he was quoting. Arthur wondered if it was Hunith or Morgana.

Balinor waved his hand in dismissal. "I will talk to Kilgharrah."

* * *

><p>Merlin fought like Arthur had once. When Arthur was a preteen, that is. Arthur sat on the sidelines during training, as was expected of him, watching Lancelot try valiantly to teach the blushing Merlin moves that he'd already tried five times.<p>

He was a painfully slow learner with that weapon.

Perhaps Arthur should be glad of that, he realized as he polished a piece of armor. But it was just so embarrassing that Arthur couldn't be. He wanted to help.

At last Lancelot put down his weapon and turned to Arthur, who was cringing, with a grin on his face. "You look like you're in pain," he said.

Arthur quickly tried to school his expression into a mask of indifference when Merlin turned to Arthur, his scowl only half-playful. "Are you laughing at me?" Merlin asked.

"I wouldn't dare, Sire," Arthur replied.

Merlin snorted. "It's harder than it looks."

"Can't be harder than watching you struggle," Arthur said without thinking, and then mentally slapped himself. Oh, well, no going back. He kept his head up, trying not to look abashed.

Merlin looked startled but Lancelot laughed, and after a second Merlin threw him a wry expression. "You want to come over here and try to do better, servant?" he asked mock-seriously.

Arthur would love to, but he ducked his head.

"I thought not," Merlin said with a sniff. He turned back to Lancelot. "Let's stop with the learning and just spar. I want to show Arthur I'm not entirely pathetic."

And he wasn't. When they were just fighting, using moves Merlin already knew, he didn't do so badly against Lancelot. He was a passable swordsman, though Lancelot let several opportunities to win pass for the sake of lengthening the practice.

Arthur tried to look approving when they finished.

But in his head, he was actually trying to estimate how many seconds it would take him to cut Merlin to ribbons in a fair fight.

All in all, and Arthur never thought he'd think this, but magic training was a relief.

* * *

><p>At last the day ended, and Arthur couldn't collapse into his bed with a sigh, like Merlin did while Arthur eyed him enviously. No, the sun was going down, but Arthur was looking for feverfew.<p>

He'd started out the castle gates (and this time no one had questioned him) and into the forest, which loomed over him like it wanted to eat him. Usually, he thought, usually woods were friendly, offering protection and solace. But not in Camelot. Of course not. Here they hid bandits and creatures and all sorts of evil things.

Also, he was exhausted. He might just have to pay the man for his breakfast next time.

Arthur grumbled to himself, basket in hand as he scanned the ground closely, walking through the trees. He wanted to be out of here before it got dark, though he'd brought a lantern in case he wasn't able to. He didn't know what time they closed the gate to Camelot, and he didn't fancy spending the night out here.

Slowly, he made his way into a clearing a bit away from the castle without noticing. As a sudden gust of wind made him shiver, he looked up, squinting his light blue eyes, faintly surprised to find he was no longer surrounded by trees.

And the wind was getting stronger.

Actually, every time the wind picked up and blew his hair across his face, he felt pressure increase in his ears like he was underwater, and the air bursts came in short, staccato, pumping motions, like…

He looked up.

He cursed out loud, dropping the feverfew he'd collected, eyes wide as he stared up into the blocked-out starry sky.

Arthur knew there were dragons around, of course. Uther had managed to wipe out quite a few of them during his short-lived purge, along with a good deal of the dragonlords. But several still lived up in the mountains, and King Balinor was a dragonlord. Though all dragonlords were kin with all dragons, there was one dragon (usually) that every dragonlord felt especially close to. That was the extent of Arthur's knowledge on dragons. That was all he thought he'd ever need to know. He never thought he'd come into contact with one.

And yet one was landing on the clearing right in front of him.

Arthur barely even realized at this time that the mantra was still there in the back of his head: _I'm going to die at the end of this; I'm going to die at the end of this… _Perhaps he'd gotten used to it.

The giant creature landed next to him, with long wings like a monstrous bat, covered entirely in deep golden scales. He was larger than all of Gaius's chambers, probably almost as large as the rebels' camp. His jaw was strong and powerful, stretched over teeth with which he seemed to be able to smile. And worst of all were his eyes—glowing like something out of Arthur's childhood nightmares, intelligent, and locked on the young blond.

Arthur clenched his fists. He didn't have his sword. He didn't have any way to fight. Punching a dragon in the eye—what good would that do? Swallowing, he tensed, determined to do what he could.

The dragon leaned close, his sulfurous breath washing through the clearing. It churned Arthur's stomach; he felt sick. Arthur felt ready to have a heart attack, but he didn't show it. Even though he was facing a _dragon _– an ever-loving, honest-to-goodness _dragon _– he was going to keep a straight back through this.

The dragon seemed to smile, and then it said, "Ah, young Pendragon. So we meet at last."

There was any number of things Arthur could have said right then that would have made an impression on what could be a mad beast. He could have tilted his chin upward and asked, "Yes?" He could have asked to meet the dragon some other time, later. He could have panicked because the dragon _knew who he was; he worked for Balinor and he knew who Arthur was!_ He could have punched the monster in the eye. Hell, he could have turned tail and run like a coward. At least it would be intelligent.

Instead, Arthur choked out, _"You can talk?"_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: There you go, then. I wanted to get further, but the chapter ended up longer than I thought it would be. Look, I gave you a chapter on Friday, not Saturday, and gave the dragon like I promised… I tried to make it not boring. Could you pretty please review? **

***slaps self* Bad Kitty. No begging. **

**Ahem. Well, please do review. Feedback… yum. And keep in mind exams are coming up, so if I don't update for longer than people want… That's why. And remember, ShadowsBloodPain's "The Sharper the Blade"!**


	10. Chapter 10

If there was one facial expression Arthur could recognize from a mile away, it was contempt. That look on people's faces when they considered themselves a cut above the crowd. He didn't see it on the Mundanes' faces. Maybe once upon a time, but not in his memory.

He never thought he'd see it on something not human.

The dragon gave a dry chuckle deep in its throat as it leaned forward, resting its head contemplatively on its paws. "Yes, young Pendragon. I speak, just as you do. Did you think I was mute?"

"No," Arthur stammered out immediately. He wasn't really sure what he had thought, frankly. He'd known dragons could communicate with dragonlords, of course – everyone knew that. But he'd thought that there was some sort of mental connection, or another language… Something like that. "I just didn't know you spoke English," he explained.

"I assure you, I speak more languages than you do."

_"You mean Kilgharrah is prouder than a peacock,"_ Merlin had said.

"I'm sure you do. I'm sorry," Arthur said, figuring that it was better not to anger the thing that could eat him while he was unarmed. And it knew who he was. It occurred to him belatedly that he should have insisted the dragon was mistaken, that he was actually someone else. _Too late. _"I should have known," he said.

The dragon eyed him, looked him up and down, making a noise almost like a purr. "How small you are, Pendragon. You are young even by your own standards, are you not?"

Arthur shrugged. "I'm… grown. How do you know my name?"

The dragon stepped closer. Arthur wanted to fall over and crawl backwards, but that would hardly be impressive. Still. It was hard to be impressive when there was a _dragon_… a giant, freaky _dragon_, oh, wait, had he already mentioned that?

"Many know your name," the dragon replied.

"Yes," Arthur said at once, "but not people that I've never told."

"That I know your name as well as your identity is due to my intellect being greater than that of most humans. I think you shall find that many people know of you who don't know your name, young Pendragon."

Arthur was alarmed. "They shouldn't," he replied slowly, his hand slipping to his side where his knife was hidden as he looked around, waiting for an attack. "How could they?"

"What a great destiny you had," the dragon replied cryptically, and Arthur – not liking the sound of those words in the least – drew his knife. If someone attacked, he would be ready. Was the dragon distracting him? Why would it do that if it could just eat him?

"Had?"

"I am surprised," the dragon admitted, its eyes following him, "to see one of your kind in Camelot. What are you doing here?"

"Picking feverfew," Arthur replied. He looked around once more. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"I am waiting for my dragonlord," the dragon replied, "and I am speaking with you."

"Is he near here?" Arthur asked, looking around. He didn't need Balinor overhearing this conversation. He wanted to stay out of Balinor's way for the time being. He didn't want to cross the man, not while he had a dragon standing there—he really couldn't get over the gargantuan dragon.

The dragon clawed at the ground, eyeing him again. "Yes," he said, "very small. You are very small. And very rare. One without a destiny is very rare."

Arthur looked at him, trying not to get distracted. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked sharply. "Without a destiny? What destiny?"

"I am speaking of prophecies, young Pendragon. You are not a learned scholar, or a Druid. You would not have heard of most of them. But I am a dragon—"

"I noticed," Arthur said under his breath, suddenly noticing the feverfew growing near his feet, and he put his knife away in order to gather it. Yes, he was mid-conversation with a reptile, but he couldn't very well return without the feverfew anyway. He would multi-task.

"And I know of them," the dragon continued, making a noise almost like a sniff. "Many people have their destinies, though prophecies of them are obscure and uncommon, but you—you were the subject of a great prophecy. King Arthur Pendragon and his warlock, Emrys—you were to rule the land and unite Albion."

Arthur swallowed heavily, forgetting the feverfew. He was to what? "But not anymore?" he said with confusion. "What am I going to do now?"

Arthur was quite convinced the dragon was going to reply "Die!" and then lunge at him, but it did not.

"I do not know," the dragon admitted, and that almost scared the young rebel worse than any threat. A large, prideful dragon saying there was something it didn't know? "When Balinor decided to overthrow Uther Pendragon, I warned him that such an action, while perhaps necessary, would skew the prophecy of the Once and Future King. Prophecies very rarely go astray, but I warned him, and he knew the implications. He chose to forfeit destiny and take action."

"Wait," Arthur said, holding his hand up for silence, completely bewildered and a little awed. He had been a Once and Future King, destined to rule… to unite? Him? If his father held power, he would be…? "But what about now?" he asked. "That's no longer my destiny? Then what?"

"You do not have one," the dragon replied, and its eyes were almost soft with some… was that sympathy?

"I'm going to die?" Arthur asked. He'd faced death before, but he felt slightly dizzy—he'd never faced _certain_ death, just the threat of it, which could usually be escaped with a few well-aimed punches.

"I do not know," the dragon said. "You simply have no destiny. You, Arthur Pendragon, are a star falling from the heavens, escaping from the rotation. No one, not even the Druids, know what you will do, or how it will affect Albion."

Arthur gawked, but quickly hid his expression. He wished he could sit down; this was too much to swallow all at once. He'd never even thought that everyone might have a destiny, a divine tablet written somewhere predicting their actions before actions were made. Keeping everyone neatly in order. Except for him.

"It is rarely heard of," the dragon said, able to see his alarm past his schooled expression. "There is only one other person alive with whom it is the case?"

"Who?" Arthur asked, wondering who else shared his condition.

"The young Prince Merlin," the dragon replied.

Arthur let that sink in. "You mean," he said. "I can do… whatever I want?"

"Many people can," the dragon replied, obnoxiously back in his riddle mode, apparently. "But not many do. Do you know what it is you want?"

Arthur knew what he wanted. He wanted to be safe. He wanted Gwen and his other friends to live without fear. He wanted his father to not be one of the most wanted men in the kingdom. But he didn't know what he wanted to do about it.

"I think you do know what you want," the dragon said, curiously. "You still stay with your father, do you not? Unlike the witch—she chose to leave your people. She has no prophecy, and her destiny is volatile. It continues to change."

Arthur was on alert again. "I don't know where Uther is," he said without thinking. "I don't know where he can be found."

"I do not ask you to tell me," the dragon said. "I simply say that you must rethink the mistaken tenets he has embedded into your head. That is not what you want, but what he wants."

Arthur felt angry prickles up his spine. "I want prejudice against people without magic to stop," he said clearly, not caring at the moment if the dragon was not on his side, if telling the truth was dangerous. "I want the choice to practice the Old or the New Religion to be just that—a choice. I want the death and pain to stop. My father didn't have to tell me that."

The dragon clicked its claws against the ground, showing its teeth, gold eyes glowing. "Look at what prosperity magic has brought to the kingdom, young Pendragon. Look at the happiness Balinor has brought as king."

Arthur brushed his hair out of his face. "You're looking at the wrong side of the kingdom, then," he remarked, and all he could see in his mind's eye was a young, dark, fatherless girl sobbing, holding together the pieces of her ripped dress.

The dragon reeled its head back, and Arthur was brought back to reality with a sickening crunch, remembering exactly what he'd just said, and to whom he had just said it. Now he was really going to die.

"Balinor approaches," the dragon commented.

Arthur's throat was dry. "Are you going to tell him my name?" he asked.

The dragon eyed him. "I have nothing against you, young Pendragon. I wish to see how a life lacking destiny plays out. If Balinor does not ask, I shall not tell him."

Arthur nodded and grabbed his feverfew. "Thank you," he said, bobbing his head, and then he ran for the trees, ducking into them just as he heard footsteps from the other side of the clearing.

Arthur ducked behind a tree, feverfew at his feet, pressing his back against it and straining his ears to catch the dragon's rumbling voice.

"Kilgharrah," Balinor's voice rang out. "I'm sorry I took a while, it takes longer for a horse."

"You did not come after you called me," the dragon said without emotion.

"My wife stopped me; she wanted to speak to me."

"I did not mind waiting," the dragon replied. "You did not need to rush. I see you are breathing with some difficulty."

"Not so hard," Balinor argued.

"I have ears," the dragon said. "I can hear you humans breathing from a mile off."

Arthur froze up. _He meant for me to hear that. He wants me to know he knows I'm here. Does he want me to leave?_ Well, too bad.

"We're under attack, Kilgharrah," the king said to the dragon, his voice frigid. "A band of mere Mundanes, from the look of things, and they are giving us a merry chase."

"You wished to take the kingdom, Balinor," replied the dragon. "Where you would be responsible for the peace, where every action and word might be _overheard_."

_That was definitely a warning. _

"There will be troubles," the dragon continued. "You must find the best solution to them within your wisdom…"

"Kilgharrah, no riddles today," Balinor said. "People are dying. I have been too lenient. I need to find the men responsible, and they must be punished."

"Indeed," the dragon replied neutrally.

"The non-magical population supports their efforts," Balinor snarled. "They always want to be on the winning side, don't they? I must remind them who is in charge. The laws are not strict enough," Balinor said, growling. "But first, I must find the rebels who are attacking the towns."

There was a pause.

Balinor let out a low curse, and if Arthur had to guess, he would say he had started pacing. "I will have to ask you to help where you can, Kilgharrah," he said.

"Are times so desperate, my kin?"

"It's my job to keep them from getting desperate," Balinor replied. "Will you just keep your eyes open, report any disturbances, so that at the next attack, we will have the army there to defeat them? I need the speed you can offer…"

"Balinor," the dragon interrupted, and Arthur leaned back against the bark of the tree, straining his ears through the darkness. "I believe that I heard a noise in the trees."

Arthur was running almost before Kilgharrah finished saying it. Obviously the dragon had tired of his eavesdropping. He grabbed the feverfew and stumbled away from the trees—he would head back to Camelot, get in and back to Gaius. In the dark, Balinor couldn't chase him. He prayed so, anyway, while his heart pounded in his chest.

He didn't hear anyone following him.

Not yet.

Perhaps the dragon had called Balinor back, having made his point.

Arthur ran anyway, careful of the trees he was unfamiliar with, careful not to trip and give himself away. His head was reeling in panic that had nothing to do with his near-discovery.

Balinor was going to make the laws stricter? No, no, his people could barely survive as it was! They couldn't afford to be made to know "who was in charge" any further. He'd have to get the news to his father as soon as possible, he thought, his breathing causing his chest to jerk up and down.

Curse Camelot and its laws, he thought, nearly groaning. How was a destiny-less man supposed to fix things, anyway?

He quickly made it back to Camelot, feverfew in the basket, sweat dripping from his rough clothing. The gates were still open—naturally, the king was outside, talking to a giant dragon. He slipped past the guards (_control your expression, control your breathing, don't look so panicked_) and down the cobblestone street of nighttime Camelot.

He reached the physician's chambers and threw the door open, going in and dropping the feverfew basket on a table. He was glad to find that Gaius had already gone home; he didn't want to talk to anyone right now.

"Well," he said, looking with disgust at the feverfew. "Next time, I'll put the meal on my rent."

And then he climbed the stairs to collapse into his bed and get lost in his nightmares.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: The chances of getting a chapter next week are slim to nil. Finals. I'm going to be deadly busy. Sorry, I'll do what I can. Please review!**


	11. Chapter 11

_The heat of the sun was on his face, but the clammy cold of the dungeons clung to his arms like a leech, but he couldn't move away from the wall he was clinging to. He was in the alley by the dungeons. His back was to the wall. His face was to the sky, and his eyes were closed, but it didn't matter. _

_He could still see anyway, but he didn't need to. His ears worked just fine. _

They _were down there, in the dungeons. He could hear the words, the accusations—traitor, unholy sacrilegious trouble-monger, rabble-rouser, scum, dirt, stronger words that he didn't want to think about. _

_No one could see him in this alley, but if they could see him, they would know. They would know right away that he was that way too; he was scum and traitor, mundane as the dirt his fingers were grasping at and stained with. _

_But he couldn't see them and they couldn't see them. _

_He could hear. _

_The hiss of metal, heated metal, the soft glow it emitted seeming to reach him past his eyelids. He could hear the breathing, the hard, fast breathing of panic. _

_His own breath joined in the sound. _

_And then the sound of a shape, if shapes had a sound, and here it did. _

_A slash. _

_A connected, intersecting slash. _

_An X. _

_Grunts, whimpers, odd sounds coming from the catching of breath, and he curled into himself like an unwanted child, gritting his teeth and wishing he could close his ears like he did his eyes, but grounded to the spot like a tree. _

_And at last a little scream of pain, panting and nasal, choked out by the protesting noise-maker…_

_And unmagical dirt could scream. _

Arthur woke up with an unprocessed cry in his throat and sweat covering his body under the blankets. He was shaking.

* * *

><p>Arthur was bleary-eyed when he stumbled down the stairs from his room the next morning, trying to wipe them into awareness and just making them red, yawning and irritable.<p>

But he'd woken up on time. He'd barely slept anyway.

"I left out the feverfew last night, couldn't find you," he grumbled in Gaius's direction as he leaned an arm against the table, catching his breath. Being tired always seemed to sap the strength from his body and gnaw at his stomach.

"I found it," the old man replied from somewhere out of Arthur's sight, putting some cheese in the young man's hand. "I heard you last night; you sounded plagued. Nightmares?"

Nightmares. Horrors in his sleep from his mind. Yes, they were. Arthur didn't know where they came from, exactly; he'd never witnessed a branding himself. Though his father, who had barely escaped execution after his own branding, had described the process in vivid enough detail to his young son to keep the boy safe and scared. Arthur had before had nightmares of such things, but not in a long time. It must have been the discussion he'd heard last night between the dragon and the king.

Arthur blinked as the cheese seemed to bring itself to his face. He didn't want to eat. He was hungry, but the thought of ingesting anything made him want to fall to his knees and vomit. "Is there water?" he asked, and when Gaius's hand pointed, he grabbed the cup and sipped at it. "I'm fine," he said. "Really, it was nothing."

"Do you often have nightmares?" Gaius asked professionally. "It's probably nothing to worry about. The Lady Morgana had that same ailment when she came to Camelot, and it turned out to just be her seer power trying to show itself."

"My nightmares have nothing to do with magic," he promised, standing up straight. And it was a lie, but not the way he'd intended it, not the way Gaius heard it. His dreams were not a product of magic, but they had a good deal to do with it.

"If you are bothered by them for too much longer, I can arrange for you to get a sleeping draft," Gaius said.

But Arthur didn't want any of the old man's magical potions or bewitched remedies. "Thanks," he said.

"Let me see your hands. Are they better?"

Arthur held them out wordlessly.

"They look better, do they still hurt?"

"Only a bit; I don't need any ointment. I should get to work." He started to stagger towards the door.

"Don't forget the cheese," Gaius said. "You can't just skip breakfast. Don't want you collapsing."

Arthur didn't much care. Actually, collapsing sounded _wonderful_, because then he wouldn't have to support his own body anymore. The floor did look inviting…

He took the cheese. "Thank you, Gaius," he said, and made for the door. He didn't look back to see if Gaius was watching him suspiciously again.

The cheese actually did end up doing some good, because it woke him up a little and got rid of a bit of the emptiness in his stomach. He was still tired, but getting more awake by the second, and he could tell that soon he would be filled with the nervous, brittle energy of the very tired.

He knocked on Merlin's door, but there was no answer. Of course not, the prince was sleeping.

Arthur was going to give up with this useless knocking pretty soon.

He opened the door, nodding to the guards by the door, and slipped inside, noticing the dark-haired man who was snoring on the bed. Arthur sighed to keep himself from smiling—remember, man, and not affected by cuteness or puppies or anything of the sort.

Actually, he thought, striding over to the window and throwing it open, he did sort of like puppies. Only because they had large brown eyes, which reminded him of a certain other person whom he knew and rather liked thinking about…

The light streaming like a thick ribbon into the room did not rouse Merlin.

Arthur went over to the bed and sighed again, at last leaning forward and shaking Merlin spitefully into awareness. Merlin had obviously had no trouble sleeping last night, the ungrateful brat.

Merlin started awake, staring at Arthur first with shock and then recognition. "Oh," he said from his crown of a pillow. "It's you."

Arthur leaned forward on his fists, staring the younger fellow in the face. "You snore, did you know?" he asked, voice just a tiny bit mocking.

A small smile started on Merlin's face. "I've never been informed of that, no."

"You do."

Merlin grinned, hearing the repeated words from the day before yesterday. "I appreciate you informing me."

* * *

><p>"Cheer up, Arthur," Merlin said over breakfast, noticing that his servant seemed to be in a downtrodden mood. "Today's not going to be such a bad day."<p>

"Why is that?" Arthur asked as he folded some clothes, looking back at the prince.

Merlin grinned, and again Arthur found himself thinking that he'd never met a lonelier man than this rich, accepted-by-society prince. Not even in his paranoid father. "Today I get to do some training! Not just the sword kind, magic too!"

"How does that make it a good day?" Arthur asked just to be contrary. _Your father is planning on cracking down on the pro-magic laws, and you could probably wipe the whole resistance out single-handedly at the moment, I don't know how to warn my people and keep up this charade, and the fact that you are practicing is supposed to please me? _

"I think it makes it a good day."

"And my happiness revolves around yours?" Arthur was grouchy today. He was going to have to watch it. Merlin was going to get annoyed at him if he wasn't careful.

Merlin didn't seem to take offense, though. He chuckled as though Arthur's insolence was some kind of novelty. It probably was to him.

"Well," said Merlin, "you do have to spend an awful lot of time with me."

"True," Arthur agreed. "Which training is first?"

"Magic," Merlin said. "Oh, and Arthur?"

"Yes, Sire?"

"Try to avoid the fire pit this time."

Arthur pulled a wry face, not really very amused, but Merlin roared with good-natured laughter.

Training wasn't so bad, actually. Arthur hung out near the back of the room, hoping to avoid getting himself fried, and he ended the session uninjured. Watching Merlin use magic as though it was as easy as breathing didn't sit too well with him; Merlin didn't seem to understand or care about the unfair advantage he had over the rest of mankind. And it made Arthur feel useless.

But when they finished and Arthur and Merlin headed towards training that involved actual weapons, Arthur gained some of those feelings of self-worth back.

It was almost painful, watching Merlin struggle to keep up with new moves. He didn't have the head or the build for it. He kept cursing under his breath.

Lancelot was never-endingly patient with him, something which Arthur was amazed at. He'd taught men to fight before, but he'd never been so tolerant with a man so slow.

Merlin felt his inadequacy keenly, though he kept his good humor as best he could. "This is not so easy for me as for you," he said to Lancelot with a shake of his head. "I'm useless!"

"Come on, you aren't so bad," Lancelot said. "You just find the new moves taxing. Everyone does."

"Mollycoddling, Lancelot?"

Arthur spoke up at once, feeling himself slip into the comfortable position of leader, barely thinking through his words. "Sire, pretend as though there is a woman just over there, watching, and you want to impress her."

"If I wanted to impress her, I would magic her flowers. Or strawberries." Merlin rolled his eyes as if the suggestion was asinine.

"Arthur might have something," Lancelot said, stopping in his movements. "What if you were to pretend this was a real fight, or something else, so that you would actually care about learning these moves?"

"If it was real, I'd blast you into smithereens," Merlin replied coldly. "I _don't_ care, and I can't."

Arthur really should have kept his mouth shut at this point, but he'd been sitting idle so long, and he was hit by inspiration. He never did handle inspiration well. Standing up and putting aside the armor he was polishing, he held out a hand toward Lancelot. "Can I have a try?"

"What?" Lancelot repeated blankly.

"Last time Merlin suggested I have a try. I'd like to."

Merlin blinked. "What, you want to fight me? But you aren't a knight!"

Arthur smiled, tried not to make it look too prideful. "Well," he said, "I used to live near an old, retired guard. He taught me quite a few tricks with sticks and then he brought out his old swords. He said I picked up pretty well for a common boy. I haven't used a sword in a while, though…"

Lancelot looked wary. "You could get hurt," he said reluctantly. "This isn't your job, and we aren't using dull swords today…"

"I can borrow some protective armor," Arthur said, trying not to show that he was beginning to regret his offer, and feeling silly that his hand was still extended expectedly.

Lancelot opened his mouth to refuse, but Merlin spoke up, studying Arthur. "Let him try, Lancelot. I won't hurt it. It will stoke my ego to fight someone I can beat."

Arthur nearly laughed out loud, but reminded himself that being underestimated was a gift not to be thrown away.

In a few minutes, trying to attract minimal attention, Arthur had a breastplate and leather gloves on, leather wrapped around his legs, but no helmet. They both decided it would be simpler to do without one. Several other knights stopped to watch, but others just didn't care enough if Merlin wanted to beat up on his new servant. And they didn't need to witness it.

"Now," Merlin mocked as they faced each other, and Lancelot backed off, "I know I'm bad, and I know you can fistfight with the best of them, but I think you'll find I'm not as bad as all that."

"I hope not," Arthur said, keeping his tone enigmatic and cool. "Takes away the fun."

They circled for a bit, neither wanted to land the first blow, Merlin because he had been told it wasn't wise and Arthur because he didn't want to lose the advantage of Merlin not having seen him fight. A voice in Arthur's head was screaming that he was crazy, stupid, suicidal, idiotic…

But he was smiling just the same.

He started it with a feint, hoping to draw Merlin out.

It worked, and then all thoughts of conscious tragedy or hiding his talent flew from Arthur's mind, and he was just fighting—it felt like his natural state. Merlin was an enemy, one he'd sorely wanted to defeat for a while, and all trickery was abandoned. Merlin's face flickered to shock when Arthur revealed his true ferocity and talent, but Arthur felt no pity for the slim man.

He was in his element and he wasn't going to be defeated.

He distantly hoped that Merlin did not look into his eyes in between parries. He might see things there that Arthur couldn't afford to have known.

Merlin, for his part, didn't have time to look. He was fighting for his life, ducking and weaving, striking at Arthur in controlled but novice movements.

"What kind of...?" he gasped out, trying to strike the weapon from Arthur's hand.

Arthur growled quietly and crouched, keeping his grip.

Arthur won, naturally. He caught Merlin when he was unguarded after an attack, several minutes into the battle, knocking Merlin's sword back and probably giving his master a sore wrist. Bringing his body in close, Arthur twisted his sword and Merlin's sword clattered to the ground. Before he could duck away, Arthur's sword was pressed firmly to the side of Merlin's neck, a second and millimeter away from slicing through the pale skin.

Arthur felt his mouth twisted up into a furious expression, and he knew how his eyes were, and he was breathing into Merlin's face. He could see the ill-hidden alarm and surprise in the younger man's eyes.

And then, with a jolt, he came back into himself.

There was silence around him. Arthur looked around, humiliated and terrified. What had he done? He'd revealed himself! He was dead, now, a dead man… He felt all the fighting spirit drain away, replaced by cold terror as he saw that the knights who had stopped to watch the fight were all gawping.

"That was one helluva retired soldier," one of the men said with a low whistle.

Arthur clambered back from Merlin's form with a shuddering breath. His sword stayed up, but all the intent was gone, replaced by fear. Meeting Lancelot's eyes, he tried not to flinch.

What had he done?

Lancelot didn't have open, surprised eyes. His hands were out, as though ready to stop the whole thing and pry them apart, and his eyes were slits. For all his honest face, he looked suspicious. He looked like Gaius had when Arthur met the physician.

Arthur swallowed.

"Well," said Merlin's voice. "I guess I really _am_ that bad."

Arthur looked back at his master, about to spit out an apology, still thinking about that look on Lancelot's face; the calculated, thoughtful expression… But he was instantly filled with relief, for Merlin was laughing. And as Arthur dropped his sword, he tried to convince himself that Merlin's reaction was all that mattered.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Whew! Okay! So, what did you think? Please let me know! This thing gave me so much trouble getting it out... First my computer broke, then it wouldn't upload, then it wouldn't edit stories... urgh. **


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Someone asked. So, no, like it says in the summary, this is not slash. And there won't be romantic scenes between Merlin and Arthur. Now, there might be some BROmantic scenes… Maybe. We shall get there.**

* * *

><p>"I guess I am as bad as all that," Merlin said again, shrugging in a self-deprecating way. But though his mouth held an amused smile, his eyes were hard.<p>

Arthur's mouth twitched in a small half-smile as the panic started to subside and go back into him. "Sorry, Sire," he said. "Beginner's luck?"

"I'm sure," Merlin said. "And I've seen you punch. It's a good thing I've got more magic than you, or you could be quite dangerous."

When Merlin closed his mouth, his teeth gritted together. Arthur awkwardly shifted his weight, wiping sweat away from his soft blond hair, and gave the sword back to Lancelot. Dangerous? Yes, Arthur could be dangerous. But Merlin wasn't supposed to know that. Did Merlin mean that little speech as a threat, or just a way to help his own ego along?

Arthur hoped it was the latter. Naturally Merlin needed to comfort himself right now, but he hadn't seemed the type to take his own inadequacy out on others. But then, what did Arthur really know about him?

"Thank you, Arthur. Here, Lancelot, back to learning," Merlin said. Arthur wandered back to his seat, flushing along his face and to the back of his neck as the watching knights left to go back to their work. Arthur sat back down again, turning to watch Merlin and Lancelot as they sparred and learned and taught new moves, respectively.

Merlin did much better after that. He picked up on every move faster, and not a word of frustration or complaint passed his lips again. His face was set, and he looked determined.

Arthur hid his smile behind a mask of indifference and lowly servitude.

He shouldn't be pleased, he decided. After all, he did not want Merlin to improve at sword fighting, not when he was already able to crush Arthur with his mind.

_Still. _It wasn't like it mattered too much. _I'm not planning on beating him in a swordfight, _Arthur thought, his finger absentmindedly running along where his knife was hidden. _I'm technically going to stab him in the back, I suppose. _

All was fair in war, they said, love and war—and Arthur had his mission set by a little of both. But at heart, Arthur was an honest knight. He'd rather win his battles by strength, not guile, and he'd rather lose the same way. That was why he had spurred on Merlin's training. And that was why this train of thought was making him so uncomfortable. He would think about something else.

So Arthur turned his attention to the armor he was polishing, letting Lancelot and Merlin fight without his attention.

By the end of the session, Merlin looked fiercely pleased with himself, and Lancelot seemed to be surprised but approving. As they put their swords away, both men had smiles—though Merlin's was almost a grimace; he was a little sore and his wrist still hurt from when Arthur knocked his sword away.

"You did well today," Lancelot said. "Better than I've ever seen you do."

"Hear that, Arthur? I'll beat you some day." Merlin was grinning, but he meant it. He wasn't going to stop until he was better than Arthur, he decided, because really, Arthur didn't have much call to be better than the _prince. _

Arthur nodded his head.

Merlin started for the edge of the field and saw that Arthur wasn't quite finished with wiping down the helmet. "I'll start up," he said. "Arthur, I'm going to want a bath."

Arthur nodded as Merlin passed by. "I'll bring up water. Where do I find the tub?"

"The kitchens."

Arthur nodded again and went back to wiping the last few smears away from the armor lovingly. He'd always wanted armor, he thought to himself as the other knights all drifted away. Of course, being a rebel, he never had any, just leather. But maybe one day he'd be able to get some…

It was heavy, and probably hard to fight in, but it would fight against wounds and the infections that followed. They'd lost men before to blows that would never take down an armored man.

After a while, Arthur became aware of the fact that he wasn't the last person left on the training field. The other knights had left, and Merlin was probably climbing the stairs to his chambers, but there was one person left, standing directly in front of Arthur, watching him and waiting to be acknowledged.

Arthur put down the finished helmet and looked up.

"Sir Lancelot," he said, smiling in a way he hoped was friendly but probably came across more put-upon and exasperated.

Lancelot nodded at him. "Arthur. You were right."

"I was?"

"Merlin does fight much better when he has something to prove. He's not a natural, and he doesn't have talent. Not like you."

Arthur waved his hand. "I'm not that good," he said.

Lancelot snorted, and it was such an honest sound that it took Arthur by surprise. His eyebrows shot up.

"Of course you are," Lancelot said. "You have practiced a lot. Merlin doesn't like it, and he's not, like I said, a natural, but with practice he could fight well. You helped him do that by beating him. I don't know how you knew that would work."

Arthur shrugged uncomfortably, but he met Lancelot's brown eyes with his own blue ones. He'd learned when he was younger that he got into less trouble with Uther when he'd misbehaved if there was eye-contact whenever he was being berated. Uther didn't like him to show weakness. Lancelot probably wouldn't like it either.

"Lucky guess," he said, giving up on his modest facade. "He just seemed like the type."

"The moves he learns might save his life in combat one day," Lancelot said. "Thank you."

Arthur smiled guiltily. _Okay, I need to get out of this conversation as soon as I possibly can. I feel like I'm being interrogated. But there's no way he can know. _

"Thank you for the compliment. I do what I can." Arthur stood.

Lancelot was staring at him, his gaze too intense. Lancelot was not the sort who hid his feelings, Arthur was beginning to see.

Arthur wasn't sure he liked that.

"Merlin has saved my life before, and he is the reason I was knighted," Lancelot said. "I would do anything to keep him safe."

_Okay, way to close to the mark. Time to get out. Time to get out. _

"He won't be happy if I'm late with the bathtub," Arthur said by way of explanation for his departure, and then he nearly ran away towards the kitchen, breathing hard. He'd begun to sweat all over again.

Lancelot watched him go with narrow eyes, scratching his head.

"Good morning, Sir Lancelot."

Lancelot turned around and smiled at the Lady Morgana, bowing. She, like him, was a commoner boosted in stature by her relationship with the royal family—only her through her magic and he through his sword.

Of course, rising in the world had its downsides, too, and he knew what people said about her and the king concerning her new dresses and place in the royal household. And she was rather a flirt; Lancelot himself had been on the receiving end of those fluttering eyelashes. But the king was too fond of Hunith, and Morgana's attentions were much more on the young prince than his father.

Besides, if anything, it was her relationship with Morgause, the high priestess of the Old Religion, which helped her secure her spot.

"Lady Morgana," he said. "I believe it's afternoon now."

"Is it?" she asked airily. "I hadn't noticed. What were you thinking about so intensely?" she asked with a coy smile.

He'd never say a word against someone Merlin was so close to, but within his own head he was free to wonder: did the woman have _real_ emotions, or was she made entirely of the makeup-like false smiles and simpers that all women at court seemed to use? She was so fake. Most women of her standing were.

Lancelot longed for a genuine, sweet woman.

"Merlin's new servant," Lancelot admitted to her with frankness. "Have you met him?"

"Of course. Arthur. What about him?" she asked indifferently.

"He beat Merlin in a sword-fight during training today."

She looked surprised, but her expression was still fake. "A commoner? Well, Merlin's talents don't rest in that area, you know…"

"He was very good, though. He claimed he learned from a retired soldier… And it did convince Merlin to try harder. But doesn't that strike you as suspicious? That he challenged the prince?"

She giggled, her smile vacuous and her eyes disinterested. But her hands, Lancelot noticed without paying much attention, balled into fists and then relaxed several times. "It sounds as though he helped him!"

"Maybe it was something about his face when he was fighting," Lancelot said, shaking his head. "He looked fierce, like it wasn't a game." He didn't know why he wanted her to back him up. So he didn't feel crazy? But what did he care if Morgana understood.

Her lips puckered into a bit of a pout. "Men always get fierce when fighting. They feel like their whole life depends on winning a match even when it's only practice." She shrugged.

Lancelot looked away from her. "I suppose…" he said.

She flicked her hand, still uncaring. "Good day, then, Sir Lancelot. I'm sure Merlin appreciates your diligence." She sashayed away, off to go and speak with Hunith, who had asked her over to share a glass of wine.

But inwardly, she marked it down: She and Arthur would have to have a bit of a _talk_ over doing stupid things that made people suspicious.

* * *

><p>Gwen sighed and wiped a hand over her forehead, wishing it wasn't so warm in her long dress "Gwaine, don't you have anywhere better to be?"<p>

"Nope," he grinned at her, popping the _P._ "I'm all yours for the day!"

"Great," she said with a roll of her eyes. "But I'm busy. I'm taking care of sick people, so unless you are wounded…"

"I am!" he said with wide eyes. "Grievously wounded!"

Her mouth twitched in spite of herself. Gwaine had taken it upon himself to cheer her up after he determined that she was much too moody since Arthur left for Camelot. Unfortunately, his method of "cheering her up" meant "flirting with her", and though it was fun in a fondly-exasperating sort of way, it wasn't really something she had time for.

"How are you wounded?"

"My heart!" he confided to her. "You think my affections for you are base trifling. I want only to please you!"

"Then go away. Just because Arthur isn't around to beat you up doesn't mean you can come and flirt with me," she said. "I'm taking care of the ill."

"Come on, you don't really like Arty-boy anyway, do you?" he teased, but by this point even he couldn't keep a straight face, and they were laughing together with the easiness born of long friendship. "You'd rather be with me."

Though Gwen and Arthur weren't officially courting – his father would _never_ approve – it was obvious to everyone how they felt about each other, though she put up an admirable fight in trying to pretend that she didn't see what was in front of her face. "Well," she said, drawing the word out in mock-thoughtfulness. "He _is_ better-looking, which does go a long way…"

"Ouch," Gwaine said, drawing back. "Ouch, that really hurt."

"Good," she said. "Now go away before my brother comes or I tell Arthur about you when he comes back."

But then her smile faltered.

Arthur. When he comes back.

In her head, she had to amend the statement: _if he comes back. _

She looked in the direction of Camelot, her eyes shiny and her lips quivering despite Gwaine's presence. The last men who had gone to Camelot had not come back. Morgana had left without a mission, and she had not come back. In cursed Camelot, with its king who persecuted those of the New Religion, none of her loved ones came back.

And though she was trying to have faith, part of her was sure that Arthur wouldn't either.

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><p><strong>AN: Late again! I was out of town. And then the laptop crashed. And then it was all like, "Office Word? What's that? Don't have that on here!" And basically, technological difficulties. Technology hates this story, I'm telling you!**

**Now, it might be a while until I update again. I want to try to type out the whole story before I update again, to save time later. But we shall see! **


	13. Chapter 13

"He's planning on _what_?"

If it wouldn't be too embarrassing, Morgana would drop her goblet of wine again. But that would be the second in so many days, and she had more decorum than that. The first had been useful as a distraction, anyway, but this time she didn't want Hunith to stop paying attention to her—she wanted Hunith to change what she just said; to make it make sense, and not sound quite so catastrophic this time.

"My husband, the king," Hunith repeated slowly, holding onto her own glass with a death grip and leaning back in her fine chair, "is planning on solidifying the laws on magic to make them more clear and strict."

"I heard that part… Did you mean the rest?" Morgana didn't mean to whisper. But in the dim lighting of the queen's chambers, with her head spinning, it just happened. "He wants to remove first-offences against the Old Religion and replace it with execution? To bring in more people thought to be in contact with anti-magical groups—you realize what that will do to the dry population?" _Dry_ was a polite way of saying _as magical as a puddle of mud. _"They will all be under suspicion!" Her voice had risen a pitch. She hadn't lost control in so long, but it was looking like a close thing now.

Hunith sipped her wine. Her blush and lipstick were ridiculous; Morgana had tactfully tried to help her with her makeup and dress, but Hunith was feeling the years, and she wanted so much to be the beautiful queen she thought her people deserved. Balinor refused to interfere.

Morgana wasn't finished. She was trying to breathe as she insisted, "The next step is to execute everyone without magic right along with the followers of the New Religion!"

Hunith looked at her cup. "I don't think so, Morgana. Merlin and Balinor live with me, and though I can't practice magic, I think they know that I try to be a good person. They know that being dry is not the same as being evil."

"For now," Morgana snorted. "What if you weren't around? What if something happened and there was no one with the king's ear to keep him from destroying—"

"Please be careful, Morgana," Hunith said, her nervous gaze darting to the door as though afraid someone would be standing there.

Morgana choked on treason.

There were tears in the young woman's eyes as she took a sip of her wine. It tasted god-awful to her, though in reality it was the best money could buy.

Hunith was on her feet in a moment, reaching for the young seer, gripping Morgana by her wrist—the one with the bracelet. "_Shh_, Morgana," she said quietly, shooting another look towards the exit. "Listen to me." Her voice was low and urgent, and Morgana sat up at once, eyes trained on the queen's.

There was a moment of quiet. "Are you listening?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"I had a reason for telling you these things," Hunith said quietly. "No one else knows, not even Merlin knows right now. Balinor has only told me. But Morgana, I know that you have some relations with friends or relatives who don't practice magic."

Morgana's eyes grew wide. "How did you know?" she asked. She'd never told anyone, not even Morgause.

"I could see it in your actions, Morgana—I have no magic, and I could tell. I saw the fear. I do not know if they are simply Mundane or outside of the law. But Morgana, now that you know, if you should choose to inform them of the impending changes, you must be subtle. You are a powerful sorceress, or so I have heard Merlin say, and you cannot afford to risk your relationship with my husband or son."

Morgana stared at her with open surprise. The queen was allowing her to pass on secret information?

"Do you understand, Morgana?"

Morgana nodded, and Hunith smiled mildly, moving away from the seer and sitting back, picking up her glass again.

Morgana looked off to the side, thinking. She'd been thinking in terms of the bigger picture, of the people who could lose their lives on nothing but suspicion, but Hunith was right. People she knew and cared for personally were in even more danger than they usually were by this, and that was important. She might not like Uther, but she wouldn't see him dead.

And she did have a way to subtly warn her people.

She stood abruptly, putting down her half-drunk cup. "Thank you, Your Majesty. I have to be going." She curtsied and hit the door with her determined stride, pushing everything not important out of her way.

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><p>"Merlin! O great warlock!"<p>

Morgana's voice was lilting but deadly serious, and Merlin looked up with surprise from where he was lacing his shirt, peeking from behind his dressing screen. "Tell me you don't hear her and that I'm going crazy," he begged of Arthur, who was struggling with the unwieldy wooden basin.

"Um, no," Arthur said, sucking on his lower lip. "I hear her too. We could hope we were both going crazy?"

Merlin groaned and nearly banged his head against the screen. "I don't even know what I did."

"All women are like that," Arthur comforted as best he could. He fidgeted. "Sire, I'll just go bring this back to the kitchen…" He gestured at the basin. It was dry, though Merlin had only gotten out of it several minutes ago. It turned out that Merlin could just magic water out of nothing. He'd suggested Arthur do it until he saw the panicked look on the servant's face. Arthur had mumbled something about the headaches magic gave him before Merlin waved his hand and did it himself. Then he'd made the same movement, his eyes had glowed gold, and he'd made the water splash out of existence the same way it came into it.

"No!" Merlin said, coming out from behind the screen. "Arthur, don't you dare abandon—"

The door opened and Morgana came bustling in. Merlin stopped speaking so he could smile (as naturally as he could) at her. "Morgana!" he said, trying to sound pleased. Her face was red.

Well, that was not good.

He swallowed. No good pretending. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No," she snapped. "It's not you. It's your father."

Arthur stiffened where he stood over by the tub. His hand went to his side. There were any number of things Balinor could have done to upset Morgana, of course, but Arthur didn't trust him, and if he'd _hurt_ Arthur's sister… Arthur ran his eyes over her. She looked rumpled and she was flushed and her eyes were flashing.

"What has my father done?" Merlin asked, backing up because of her ferocity. "And why don't you take it up with him?"

"It's not what he's done. It's what he's going to do. Merlin, at some point he will bring up with you his plan to crack down on the magic laws, the eradicate first offences and arrest those suspect of being involved with rebel groups. And I'm telling you now, _I do not approve._"

"You don't?" Merlin was trying to be neutral, but Arthur's heart was beating.

"No. Innocent people will be hurt on nothing more than hearsay."

Merlin had his hands out in a placating manner. "Calm down, Morgana, I will do what I can to ensure that any laws he passes are fair. Of course I will. How do you even know this?"

She faltered. "I…" She hadn't thought of that. She'd just jumped at the chance to yell. Just like the Morgana Arthur knew for so long. "It doesn't matter," she snapped at Merlin. "I… I don't know."

"You _don't _know? And yet you told me…"

"No! Merlin!" she looked ready to rip his throat out, so he gave it up.

Arthur cleared his throat. "If that's all you need, Sire, I'll return this to the kitchen."

"Yes, thank you, Arthur," Merlin replied, still smiling awkwardly at Morgana. Arthur headed for the door with a still-slightly-simmering Morgana on his heels. He opened the door and rolled the wooden tub out.

"For the record, Sire," he added, "You need to get one of these that stays in your room!"

"It rotted," Merlin said. "I'll get a new one."

Arthur nodded. "Appreciated," he called as Morgana walked out after him and shut the door. He stopped in the hall to look at her and read the sparks in her eyes.

"Did you get all of that?" she asked, looking over her shoulder warily.

"I knew," he told her just as quietly, looking at Merlin's door as he slowly started for the kitchens.

"You did? You couldn't! How?"

"I overheard the king speaking to the dragon about it. Thank you for warning me, though."

"Tell Uther," Morgana said, mouth puckering with distaste. "You will tell him? I hate for any harm to come to Gwen, or Gwaine or Leon…" She realized she was babbling names that couldn't be spoken in Camelot's castle, possibly giving them away to anyone who might hear. She shut her mouth quickly.

Arthur nodded with a jerk, his face hard. "I would too," he agreed.

But how would he pass the word on? His father would doubtless send a man to check on him, and Arthur could find him. But there was no rendezvous planned for Arthur—he had been informed to get in, get information, assassinate, and get out successfully. This was a last-ditch effort, not a well-planned operation.

A shame.

* * *

><p>"Have you ever met a dragon?" Merlin asked out of nowhere the next day.<p>

"I haven't," Arthur lied smoothly. "There aren't many left, isn't that right?"

"Not many, three I think," Merlin said. "The dragons that Uther and his Purge didn't get around to."

_Uther_. It was so weird to hear Merlin say his name. He'd just said the name of a man Arthur had known all his life, but had to pretend that he had never seen. Arthur had only known Merlin for several days, but he already knew that Uther and Merlin were completely separate parts of his life.

He raised an eyebrow in mild curiosity. "I see," he said.

"Would you like to meet a dragon?"

Arthur sighed. "Why do you ask?"

"I don't have anything to do at the moment," Merlin said, waving his hand. "I thought I'd use the free time to go visit Kilgharrah."

"You want to use your free time to go visit a dragon," Arthur clarified blandly as he turned around and smoothed over a part of Merlin's bed.

"He's an old friend of mine," Merlin said happily, rolling his eyes as he strapped a sword onto his side. He disliked carrying one, since, as he told Arthur unashamedly, "I'm more likely to hurt myself than an attacker." (Arthur had tried to look like he didn't agree.) But ever since the day he'd met Arthur, his father and mother had insisted he carry it. Even Morgana had not been sympathetic towards him.

Arthur tried to convey exactly what he thought with his look, and Merlin laughed without taking offense.

"So I'm not a normal kind of person," Merlin said. Arthur, who had actually met a dragon, riddles and large teeth and all, thought that an understatement. "Do you want to come and meet him?"

"I think I'm good," Arthur said, waving his hands. He didn't want a repeat encounter. What if the dragon decided to reveal him?

Merlin's face fell immediately.

Quickly, Arthur backtracked. "Actually," he said before he could stop himself, "maybe I will come. Could be educational, I suppose." He smiled when Merlin began to beam.

_It's only logical to go, because if Kilgharrah is going to tell Merlin about me, I want to be there so I can kill him. Or something_, he told himself.

"Great!" Merlin said. He felt light-hearted, something he only vaguely understood. He'd been feeling that way lately, since Arthur came. It was a shock to him that for once his hope had been right—someone to spend time, someone his own age but vastly different from him, made the difference.

He wasn't feeling lonely.

Merlin headed for the door. "Don't worry about your chores," he said. "I promise not to pile them on today."

Arthur followed behind him like a servant was supposed to, trying to keep his smile off his face when Merlin gave something similar to a skip.

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><p>They met Kilgharrah in a field outside the woods; not the same one where Arthur had first seen him. The dragon practically ignored Arthur the entire visit, though whenever his eyes lit on the rebel for the first time at Merlin's introduction, they were glittering with something close to mischief.<p>

Did dragons _get_ mischievous?

After that the dragon mostly ignored him in favor of talking to Merlin, making small talk.

Arthur was thinking that the trip had been rather anti-climatic when they were headed back. It was then that he spotted someone standing by a stall in the street, watching him.

Giving a little cough to cover his surprise, he said, "Sire?"

Merlin turned around expectantly.

"I think I'll… um," he thought of his chores. "Go and retrieve your new shirt from the seamstress first."

Merlin's forehead moved and his lips twitched in mild confusion. "Okay. I don't care what order you do your chores in."

"I'll go do it now," Arthur said, and awkwardly turned away, jogging away from Merlin, who was watching him go, nonplussed.

He waited until Merlin had turned and left before he walked up to the familiar man, who was fingering cloths now, waiting for Arthur to approach.

"Hello," he said in a low voice, close enough that Bedivere could hear him. One of his father's longest standing knights, Bedivere was alive and unmarked due to a stroke of luck—he had been away, exploring and out of the country, when Camelot fell to magic's forces.

Bedivere's eyes flickered. "I came to check on you. Make sure you were okay."

"Tell my father that I'm working in the castle now, for the royalty."

Bedivere's lips curved into an almost smile. Arthur looked at the merchant for the stall, who was just now moving away to go and deal with a customer. Arthur turned around, back against the stall, head still pointed toward Bedivere's ear, and the man didn't blink.

"Tell him that Mundanes have allegedly been attacking several towns of Camelot, causing a lot of damage and supposedly they can't be caught. The king wants to change some things, make the laws stricter. Get rid of first offences and expend more energy into finding the rebels." He paused. "And Bed, I've seen them. Their prince could destroy us single-handedly if he could find us."

He let Bedivere get pale to ensure that he understood. Then, smiling a friendly smile of a man who had just seen an old comrade, he patted the older knight on the arm and said, "Good to see you," loud enough so the merchant overheard.

And then Arthur turned and walked away to go complete his chores.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So I think my cover I created is suitably intense and awesome. An X over Arthur's face. I was worried about finding something with him outside of his prince clothes, but then I remembered the Moment of Truth. Anyway. I like it. Your thoughts?**

**I'm currently on Chapter 17 and losing inspiration, so I thought I'd update this chapter early to get myself some more.**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Warning: A baddish word. Sorry, any way around using it sounded dumb…**

* * *

><p>More than a week passed.<p>

Arthur observed it passing with a sort of vague, indifferent surprise, because he hadn't actually expected to make it this long. He'd convinced himself that the chances of him getting caught, of someone noticing a family resemblance, of him slipping up, of someone demanding he do magic and him being unable to comply, or of some similar situation occurring were too high. But at the same time, he just couldn't see himself failing. He couldn't really comprehend _dying_; he'd seen others die, yes, but he hadn't done it himself, naturally.

So his surprise was only vague, and not as severe as his shock would have been if something had actually happened.

Things moved rather slowly in that week. He didn't see anyone on the street checking on him. He gathered more information, rarely stuff of much importance, from Merlin, Morgana, overheard conversations, and the castle staff (they were gossip-mongers, every one of them!). Storing all the information away, he went about his business and fell into a sort of pattern.

Gaius and Lancelot both appeared to relax a bit around him, so he could breathe again—though occasionally he thought he saw a sparkle leap into Gaius's eyes when Arthur showed a certain mannerism or put a certain inflection on a word. (Out of everyone in Camelot he saw now, hadn't Gaius known his father best?)

The scroll that burned Arthur never made a reappearance. Merlin seemed secretive about anything like that now; he doubtless read those things when Arthur wasn't hovering over his shoulder.

Arthur got used to the pattern and work around the castle, and learned to do his chores correctly. They got easier.

He told himself not to get relaxed and careless.

He did pretty well on the latter bit, but not the former. Life was peaceful living inside the law. There weren't struggles for food or bone-crushing news of an attack by bandits or suspicious villagers. No one showed up, staggering, infected burns seeping on their chests. You could forget that life wasn't so nice everywhere.

Well, some people could. Arthur couldn't, not really. Not with his friends still out there living that life.

Arthur clung to that thought a lot, actually. Because otherwise it was too easy to remember that Merlin had proven himself to be nice, likable, and embarrassingly trusting, and Arthur had never before been the kind to betray anyone. Even if he volunteered for this.

But still, he was getting used to life working in the castle, taking everything in stride.

That was why, when the large dragon landed right in the middle of the courtyard, ignoring the hay bushels and fruit he crushed on the grounds of wanting to talk to someone rather urgently, Arthur looked up from polishing Merlin's boots and wasn't too concerned. The dragon hadn't posed a threat to him yet, he thought as he looked out the window and continued his motion with the polishing cloth. He would have to discover what was happening from Merlin later.

Did the dragon, he wondered, often land there?

When Merlin came in, face stony, and threw down the paper he was holding onto his desk, announcing to Arthur, "We've got some place to go. Might be dangerous, but you're good with a sword," Arthur wasn't too alarmed.

When Merlin turned away, fist tight, and whispered to himself, "_Damn_ Mundanes," was when the fear started growing in Arthur's chest. And wasn't Arthur surprised to find himself a little bit hurt as well!

But if Arthur had known the events that were coming, or what the dragon's news would bring about soon, he wouldn't have just been concerned. He would have been sweating, as afraid as he had been the first day in the castle… perhaps more.

* * *

><p>Merlin ran outside immediately when the dragon landed in the courtyard, his father close at his heels. They'd been having a breakfast and king-to-prince council when they heard the wings flapping and a guard came running into the room, calling that Kilgharrah, the Great Dragon, had landed in the courtyard and was destroying food with his tail, wanting to talk to the royal family.<p>

Kilgharrah would never do that unless it was an emergency.

Merlin was running before the man finished, pushing him out the way. His eyes flashed gold, but nothing happened. He had his magic at the ready, prepared for anything. He didn't know how much of an emergency this was yet.

He ran out into the sunlight, shielding his eyes in order to look up at the glowing orbs of the oldest dragon living. Kilgharrah saw him too, since he was facing and watching the steps of the courtyard for the royal family. People were milling behind him, trying not to pass too close in case the giant lizard decided to make a sudden movement. Several were running, trying to save their trashed goods. Balinor would have to pay them back later, Merlin decided, surveying them with pity.

Then his eyes snapped back to the dragon as the king exited the castle behind him.

"What is it?" Merlin asked clearly. "You wouldn't be here crushing things if this wasn't important."

Balinor looked faintly disapproving at Merlin's familiar tone with the Great Dragon. (So what else was new?)

"Yes, Kilgharrah," he agreed in a booming voice that made Merlin want to roll his eyes.

"I have kept an eye on the towns of Camelot as I promised," the dragon said. "One of them is being attacked near the border."

"_Is_ being? Presently?" Merlin asked. His father gripped his sword.

"Yes," the dragon said."

"Which one?" Balinor snapped, forgetting respect.

"Ealdor is the target of the bandits." Ealdor. Taken from Cenred's predecessor shortly after Merlin was born. Also, the town where Hunith was born.

"Did you see them?" Merlin asked. "The people attacking?"

"I did not watch," the dragon replied sardonically, still calm of voice. "I assumed you wanted to know as soon as possible." He looked like a cat who wanted to lick his paw. Merlin wouldn't have been surprised. If Merlin wasn't so fond of him, he could hate that dragon.

"How long ago?"

"It was several hours before my arrival here," the dragon said.

Merlin looked at his father. "How fast can we get there?"

"I'm not sure," Balinor replied, already thinking of the spells that could be cast on the horses to make them run faster and whether that would endanger the animals' lives. "Prepare yourself; there may be battle."

"When do we leave, Father?"

"As soon as possible," Balinor replied.

Merlin nodded curtly, put his hand on his sword to steady it, and ran into the castle, up to his room. But he was intercepted—suddenly his mother was standing before him, her face pale and her eyes wide. "Ealdor?" she asked faintly. "Ealdor is being attacked?"

"Or was, at least," Merlin said, nodding, sorry to see her face crumple. "If we hurry we can catch the attackers, I think."

"I'm coming," she said, lifting her chin.

"No," Merlin responded at once. "It's too dangerous."

"If its safe for you, it is safe for me," she replied, her face set. She looked a ridiculous sight, her hair crimped within an inch of its life and her odd blue dress, unbecoming with her coloring.

"You aren't armed," Merlin argued. "You can't use a weapon."

"The first," said a new voice, and there was Morgana, approaching with her half-smile as she pulled her own hair back to braid it (a feat which no other woman of her standing would be capable of) and walked towards the pair, "is easily fixed, and the second is not necessarily true. I'm coming as well."

"I don't have time for this!" Merlin said, throwing his hands up but paling at the thought of them in danger. "Is every female in the castle going to insist on coming?"

"I don't doubt it," Morgana replied without pity. "Now, you haven't much time. Shouldn't you… _shoo_?"

There was nothing else for it. "Father will deal with this," he said, and with a quick half-bow to both women, he continued at a flat run towards his own room, where he slammed the door open and caused Arthur to jump and look up from the window.

Mood sour, still worried about the women, Merlin announced, "We've got some place to go. Might be dangerous, but you're good with a sword."

Arthur nodded and dropped his chore, making his way over to his master and ready to help.

Merlin looked away. He could understand, he realized, why his mother was insisting upon coming. It was her once-home in danger. He would do the same in her position. But still… "_Damn_ Mundanes," he hissed.

And then he looked back at Arthur. "They've attacked Ealdor."

* * *

><p>Arthur supposed he should be worried—riding into battle, into danger, facing those who were of his own, the possibility of being discovered. But his first thought upon learning their destination was, <em>Good. <em>That meant that he would finally have the chance to discover who was giving his father's rebellion an even worse name than it had.

He helped Merlin prepare swiftly and raced downstairs to ensure that the horses were prepared. The stable boys were obnoxious because they were so slow, though he supposed that in truth they were going as fast as they could.

_Don't be too anxious, Arthur. There's no need to go rushing into the unknown. _

Though, in truth, rushing into the unknown was what he'd always done best. Arthur made sure the horses were ready; he was going to have to borrow one, but Merlin had told him that was expected.

Soon, though it seemed like a long time to everyone involved, they were setting out. They made an impressive sight, though they didn't have time to prepare the army. The king and Merlin rode in front, with Arthur behind Merlin's horse and Morgana and Hunith behind the king. Not so much because that was their place but because they _wanted_ to be there and no one had time to argue. Behind that group, the knights and at least five sorcerers (the ones who could leave without prior warning) rode on their own horses, and Gaius was along too—there would be injuries, almost without a doubt, he figured, so he packed every herb and poultice he could possibly think might be useful.

Arthur was nervous, but the possibility of fighting didn't scare him much—he'd been hiding in the court of Camelot, where he could be killed because his father was the king who had been cast out, for more than a week. Almost two. He cast Morgana a look as they rode, and she smiled at him.

He returned her bright flashing of teeth with something more subtle and less familiar, and then, looking up, saw that Lancelot had witnessed the exchange.

There was that suspicious look again.

Arthur turned around to face the back of Merlin.

On horseback, riding fast, magic spurring them on, the ride took a mere five hours. It may have seemed long to Merlin and Hunith, who had begun to sweat visibly, but Arthur knew that it would take more than a day to walk that distance, and he was suitably impressed.

And then Ealdor was before him, and he swallowed.

It was a small town, one his father would have snuck into for food, but not one really worth harassing—it was too far from Camelot to draw much attention if it hadn't been the birthplace of the queen. And Uther would not have attacked it, Arthur realized, because it _was_ the birthplace of the queen.

The queen was the closest thing to an ally Uther had in court (he didn't know about Morgana), even if she was far from agreeing with him and his anti-magical teachings. He wouldn't do anything that could be seen as an attack on her personally.

Ealdor, even from outside, was obviously in distress; people could be see wandering the streets, some looking lost, others running like they were trying to get their life together. The homes looked collapsed. There were fires, some on houses, some in the streets, and smoke made Arthur cough.

He thought he could see bodies.

Riding into town, his eyes stung from the smoke and heat. He heard Merlin curse in front of him.

There were no signs of remaining attackers, and so they dismounted, everyone standing next to their horse and looking a little lost. What was there to do? There was no battle to be fought. How could they help?

Arthur glanced towards the trees, eyes narrowed.

Why? He wondered. The woman passing by him looked empty, hurt, clutching a shawl around herself. _Why attack this town?_ They didn't have money or power! This town would help no one, only good for pillaging to get a little gain and for the cruel enjoyment of chaos.

But really. Where was the logical sense?

"The attack is over," Merlin observed with dismay. "We didn't make it in time."

The logical sense would be to draw out the entire royal family to a place away from the citadel. A place with less protection. A place where they would be more vulnerable to surprise attack.

Arthur saw something move in the trees.

"No," he said, surprising everyone and causing people to look at him. "No, the attack isn't over yet."

And then he saw it again, the movement, recognized it, and leapt forward. Without warning, causing everyone to stare with horrified, scandalized surprise, he hit the queen, pushing her back and into the wall of the house behind her.

Just in time for the arrow whizzing by to miss her.


	15. Chapter 15

The queen gasped. Balinor started forward. The villager woman who had passed by shrieked.

Arthur threw himself away from Queen Hunith and drew the sword Merlin had lent him just in time to meet the attack.

The horses all neighed and protested, shifting their hooves nervously as screaming men came pouring out of the forest. That arrow hadn't been the only one released; several landed harmlessly, but one knight fell, clutching his leg, and only a hastily thrown up shield saved Merlin before it flickered out of existence. There had been another scream of pain from somewhere, but Arthur couldn't see where it had come from.

Everyone went for whatever weapon they were most comfortable with – magic or sword – as the wave of man crashed into them and the battle began. Around them, the fires of Ealdor were burning into the sky.

Arthur was immediately presented with an opponent who held a dirty sword, a rat faced man with a permanent leer. Arthur didn't recognize him, though it was easy to believe he didn't have any magic—his eyes didn't have any sparkle, and he was certainly dirty enough and he just _looked_ like he trusted no one. Glancing around at the other men, Arthur realized that he didn't know who they were. No signals went off in his head. No recognition. They were the enemy, then, not of his people. Good.

But where had they come from? Why hadn't they approached his father with discussions of allying? Why didn't Uther's Mundanes even know they existed?

But Arthur pushed the thought out of his mind and focused instead on the present mission: get out of this alive.

_They_ had the advantage of numbers, Arthur noted. _What is our advantage?_

Looking over, he saw that Merlin was thinking too, even as a man with a sword slammed into him and attempted to dismember him. With a spell, the man was tossed backward, and Arthur saw his neck twist in a way a neck should not go as he crashed into the man behind him. Efficient.

Queen Hunith withdrew behind a building, as she was unarmed, grabbing a small child and its mother and dragging both to safety. Morgana, on the other hand, decided to join in the fray, gleefully smashing her sword against people. Arthur moved toward her, but stopped when Merlin was suddenly next to him.

"The arrows," Merlin gasped as he dispatched of another man. His sword was out but hardly being used. "They're taking out men, too hard to block because they're fast, the knights are too busy to use magic."

"We need to get the archers?"

Merlin nodded. "Lancelot needs to know."

Right. Arthur wasn't one of Merlin's soldiers. But Arthur was at home here, fighting, on the battlefield; he _had _this. "I'll get him!" Arthur said, chopping through his opponent as he began to run towards Merlin's most trusted knight. "You keep fighting!"

Merlin's torrent of silky death-words, directed at the enemy, was the only answer Arthur was given.

The sorcerers were slipping through the Mundanes like Moses through the Red Sea (a story not safe for verbally repeating), but the arrows were indeed a threat. Knights could go down to them, and putting up a permanent shield, Arthur had learned, meant you couldn't fight. So sorcerers had fallen as well.

"Lancelot!" he shouted, grabbing the fighter by the shoulder and leaping back in case of a violent response.

Lancelot looked at him.

"We need to get to the archers! Merlin said!" Arthur coughed in the smoke threaded through the air.

Lancelot nodded. "They're in the trees," he said, and with that the two men were chopping and slicing their way towards the back. But the further they went, arrows were thicker, soon it would be like walking through a sandstorm. Arthur wished for a shield as he uselessly held up his sword. They were nearing the end line of fighting.

"Here," Lancelot nearly shouted at last, deciding that killing the enemy with his sword wasn't the most important thing at the moment, and he threw up his hand and hissed a word Arthur couldn't catch—magic slid off his ears like oil. He never could understand a word of it. But a blue protective layer flickered into being around them as they went, now nearly running, knocking people out of the way—though Arthur was still free to use more deadly means of getting there. Lancelot was too busy concentrating. (Well, he wasn't very good at this, or so Arthur had heard.)

Arthur hadn't gotten used to the fact that the people using magic were currently on his side, but he ignored the panicked shudder going down his spine that always wanted to warn him against magic-users.

They slipped into the trees. Arthur grabbed Lancelot's arm and dragged them off to the side so they wouldn't be as obvious approaching the archers. Unless they saw the two men break away from the fighting, but chances were the whole scene was too busy.

"Drop the shield," Arthur whispered, and reluctantly, Lancelot did so.

"Why?"

"It sparkles in light," Arthur explained. "It can't be avoided with your armor. We're going to need to sneak up on them because we haven't got long range weapons and they have."

They were now hidden semi-safely in the bush, but things were far from silent. The screams and hollers from the battlefield could be heard from where they were as they crouched, eyes open for the archers.

"We'll sneak up on them, take them out," Lancelot decided, and Arthur nodded. "If they see us, they'll shoot, though, and we won't have cover…"

"You can use your shield if he spots you."

"You do the same," Lancelot said, looking comforted as he nodded.

"I don't know how," Arthur said. Lancelot looked aghast. Arthur shrugged. "Using magic gives me headaches, if I did block myself I'd be in too much pain to fight. Don't worry." He grinned. "The archer won't see me."

Lancelot hesitated. "You want to do this?"

Arthur stared at him. "Of course I do," he said. "Why would I…? Of course I do."

Lancelot was giving him that weird look again, and Arthur remembered that he was a servant, but they were in the _middle of an ambush_. If Arthur could fight, why shouldn't he?

"Let's go," Lancelot said at last, and Arthur nodded, having decided that the knight was just an awfully suspicious bugger.

Lancelot stood and both men pushed their way into the woods, keeping low and quiet. At last Lancelot, in front, turned around and showed Arthur three fingers. Three archers. He pointed to the far left, then himself. The far right, then Arthur.

Arthur nodded as the knight snuck off to go take care of his man. For his part, he quickly spotted the one Lancelot had assigned him to. Up in a tree, far from the others—only one of whom could be seen, sneaking along the ground. Lancelot must've known there was a third from the direction the arrows had come from.

An army would have more archers. Arthur considered himself lucky that these men were just a rag-tag group.

Arthur watched his feet. This was actually easier without armor, he noted as he crept around the back. Now, he couldn't climb a tree very well. The archer was a slim young man, back turned towards the battlefield, fitting another arrow. He was partly hidden by leaves.

Tilting his head, Arthur stayed a few feet back and took a moment to consider. _It would be noisy, though, _he thought, so he would just have to be ready for the middle archer to attack. That one, Arthur noted, casually glancing his way, was positioned so he could see through the trees to the middle of the battle.

Arthur burst from concealment, took aim, and threw his sword like a javelin. Usually not recommended, he knew, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and he had faith in his aim. The blade pierced the back of the treed archer, who gave a yell and fell forward, a sword halfway into him as he crashed into the dirty ground below.

Arthur hissed, ran around the tree and grabbed his sword, which had flopped to the ground. The archer groaned. He was still alive, then; Arthur should have thrown harder.

The blond rebel stabbed the man through this time, silencing him quickly, and took off towards the other man, who was now alert and looking at him.

The archer was fitting another arrow shakily, his baggy eyes wide and terrified. He brought the bow up vertical, shaking as Arthur came bearing down on him, and drew back his string. Arthur threw himself onto his front, sliding through the ground and slamming into the man's legs, hitting his nose on a knee, and down both went into a tumble of limbs on the floor of the green woods as Arthur's eyes began to water.

Arthur heard more footsteps approaching, but he didn't have time. The archer was already recovering, having disregarded his bow and arrow, which were out of his hands now, and was going for the knife at his side.

Hacking with his sword, Arthur grunted, but the man, a strong fellow with untidy brown hair, clutched at his arm and twisted. The sword fell away from the servant's grip and Arthur was left wrestling with his enemy.

"Arthur, move, I have him!"

The voice was ignored. The enemy managed to get his knife out, but Arthur was on top of the pile and he had the man's wrists. Viciously he pushed downward, and the man choked.

Arthur staggered off of his dead foe and went to retrieve his borrowed sword, grunting as his arm gave a twinge. "He was pretty strong," he muttered as he looked up at Lancelot, who was waiting for him. "You get the third one?"

Lancelot nodded. "A lot more quietly than you did with the other two."

Arthur smirked. "Well, silence is the price I paid for speed. Quantity, not quality."

Lancelot actually gave a bark of laughter, realizing he was being mocked, but then it fell away and he became serious.

"Let's get back to the fighting," he said.

"We can win, now," Arthur said, sniffing. Was his nose bleeding?

Both men turned and ran back into the battle, which they could see through the trees was still raging.

Lancelot furiously rejoined the fighting, and Arthur slashed out a bit as well, but he wanted to fight his way back to the front more than he wanted to take down men. He was worried about Morgana more than anything, now, because knowing her she wouldn't have run to hide even if she couldn't win.

The remaining magicians (and there were at least two or three) turned the tide now that they were able to fight undeterred. The Mundanes fell away, and though still many remained, it was clear that they would be defeated now.

And so they retreated.

It was the scream of one man, rising above the crowd, which gave the word. "Retreat!" A glorious word when you were hoping for it, Arthur thought, wiping away sweat as his opponent immediately abandoned him to run.

Arthur let him go, opting instead to look towards the yell he'd heard. A leader? They had a leader, obviously, and as Arthur clapped eyes on the man as he rushed through the suddenly swift body of men, he had to close his eyes for a second.

Of course. That made sense. Arthur recognized someone after all, and now he knew why they hadn't approached Uther.

Some of Camelot's men tried to stop the enemy from retreating, though others were too tired, injured, or far away to do so. The ones who moved towards the trees were ultimately pushed aside, avoided, or trampled, and the mass of men went tearing through the woods to escape.

Many chased them.

"Follow them!" Balinor (he was still alive; unfortunate) hollered at several knights. "Search for them!"

Four knights went tearing off, and Arthur shook his head as he was nearly knocked into. He'd once asked about the fine points of tracking with magic. It could be done, but it was hard to do without knowing the person or people personally. And scared men moved fast. They might get some, but four knights wouldn't be able to bring back a fighting force in arms, and the rest of Balinor's men were too tired to attempt another, offensive battle.

Merlin had obviously decided the same, because instead of taking off, he spotted Arthur and made his way over. He was bleeding from a slice across his face and his arm had a good bit of red, but it might not be his, Arthur figured.

"Well," Merlin said, coughing. "That was…" He nodded a little awkwardly.

Arthur nodded too. He couldn't agree more.

"Good job. You and Lancelot took out the archers?"

"We did. There were only three. They obviously weren't planning on making much of a dent with arrows. They'll probably rethink that next time."

Merlin nodded in agreement and started to turn away. But then he stopped and turned back, and he was looking Arthur straight in the eyes, blue on blue.

"Arthur?"

"Sire?"

Merlin looked down, then up. "You saved my mother's life," he said with perfect sincerity. "Thank you so much."

Arthur blinked and broke eye contact.

"Now," Merlin said, putting his bloodied sword in its sheath (which made Arthur wince; he wasn't going to _clean _it? Did he know nothing?). "I'd better go find her."

He directly walked off. Arthur sucked in breath, glad of his absence.

Of course he saved Hunith. She was a savior of sorts for his people. She was hope for Mundanes, a completely unmagical woman married to the king. Plus, she was a _woman_. You couldn't just let a female get killed, could you? Arthur couldn't.

But then, Merlin had been so grateful. He had nearly lost his mother, and he had emotions in his blue eyes, deep, affectionate eyes. Arthur hadn't lost a mother that he could remember—she'd died when he was born. But he had lost loved ones. And he recognized that hurt.

And there wasn't evil in Merlin's gaze.

Arthur cursed, out loud, causing the survivors nearby to stop inspecting corpses and the wounded and instead look at him curiously. Arthur wiped blood from his face. His nose was indeed bleeding.

It wasn't that he had really thought Merlin was evil.

He'd just never thought about before.

But Merlin wasn't evil. He wasn't malicious. He was a good person. Arthur liked him, thought he was the sort of fellow who made a good friend and had the decency to thank people he owed.

Arthur honestly didn't think he could kill the warlock.

He cursed again, more colorfully.

**A/N: I'm going to be away until Friday, so review replies and any updates will be late. Please, please leave me a review, so I can know how the story is going!**


	16. Chapter 16

Morgana's hand on his shoulder caused him to look up.

"Are you alright, Arthur?" she asked, looking him up and down for injuries. Her hand strayed towards his nose. "Is it…?"

She looked whole and well, Arthur noted, tearing his mind away from his problem and focusing on her. Her hair was falling down, and her clothes were rumpled.

"I just hit it," he said. "It isn't broken. What injuries have you got?" As children, after Morgana's father died and left her to Uther's care, they would do this. If something happened, they would meet up afterward and look over each other carefully, observe everything. Show off small cuts and bully each other into telling Uther about the bigger ones that needed care.

"Skinned knuckles," she announced, holding up her hand. "Gaius is alive and well, attending to survivors, but I don't think we need him."

"Keep it clean," Arthur said, wiping his nose and pointing at her hand.

"You were right," Morgana said as he checked over his borrowed sword.

"Of course," he said, and looked up. "About what?"

"They weren't from your father," she said, dropping her voice. "I didn't recognize any of them."

"I did," Arthur replied as quietly, voice tight. "But just one. Remember Cedric?"

Morgana's face went blank for several seconds before it cleared and comprehension dawned. "The rat?" she asked, her voice a little louder than she meant to make it. Arthur's head shot up and she looked around for listeners apologetically. Deciding that no one was paying attention – everyone was too busy getting patched up to notice if the Lady Morgana spent a little too long talking to the prince's manservant. "The rat?" she asked again. "I think so. I thought he left."

"He did," Arthur said, raising his eyebrows, looking down at his sword's blade. He went towards the woods to wipe his sword off – it would get cleaned later – and she tagged along. He figured they looked less suspicious if he was busy. "Decided he didn't like U—Father's methods and hit the road. Thought we weren't looking at a big enough picture, remember? Said the war wasn't on the crown, but the whole country."

"Right," Morgana said, nodding and pushing her hair back behind her ears. "I'd forgotten why Gwen and I dubbed him 'the rat', but I remember now."

"He gave the call to retreat. Looks like he decided to do something about how he felt."

"Did he see you?" Morgana asked, her heart speeding up. Arthur shook his head, and she smiled triumphantly at the back of his head. "What are you going to do, then?" she asked.

"Nothing," Arthur said, looking up at her. "I'm going to let them deal with it."

She opened her mouth to say something, probably to disagree—Arthur thought they had been getting along for too many minutes anyway; he was starting to get suspicious. But she looked up first, and immediately caught Lancelot's brown eyes looking their way. Without saying a word, not even goodbye, she shut her mouth, brought her hand to her hair nonchalantly, and walked away.

Arthur didn't look up to watch her go, just stood up and put his sword back. Casually he looked up to see what had chased Morgana off, but Lancelot had already looked away and was talking to another of Merlin's knights—a large, quiet fellow Arthur thought was named Percival.

Arthur turned away and went to linger behind Merlin while everyone finished picking up.

* * *

><p>Lancelot turned to Percival, who was observing the town.<p>

"Pretty trashed," was his decisive opinion.

"I hope they're really gone this time," Lancelot agreed while he twisted his arm, trying to get a good view of the slice on his arm. "We've suffered injuries; they'll want us to go back. But they'll send search parties. Won't want to lose the rebels now."

Percival nodded.

Lancelot sent another glance after Arthur. "There's something about him," he said, half to himself and half to his friend.

Percival looked up, blinked once at Arthur, and shrugged. "Like what?"

Shaking his head, Lancelot sighed. "I don't know. Something… suspicious."

Squinting, Percival shook his large head and looked at Lancelot seriously. "Seems normal to me. Good with a sword, but he told us why that was."

"Because Morgana often goes out of her way to comfort and talk to normal servants?"

Percival wore one of those looks he was almost famous for, half way confused and half way enlightened. "Maybe she likes him."

"She likes the prince."

"Maybe she likes both."

Lancelot laughed and shook his head. "No," he said. "There's something about Arthur."

Percival shrugged. He certainly didn't care if there was. "Don't harass him," he warned.

Lancelot looked back at him, smiling. "Of course not," he said. "I wouldn't do that." But then he shook his head. He wouldn't harass the servant, but he would keep his eyes open. If there was something funny going on, Merlin could be in danger. And keeping Merlin out of danger was Lancelot's job.

* * *

><p>They stayed, but not long. The fires were put out and the smoke cleared. The men patched themselves up and Gaius took care of the wounded of the village. The queen insisted on helping (she also insisted on greeting all of her old friends, whom she hadn't seen in years). She seemed relieved to find that much of the damage on the town was material—though several of the villagers were wounded or dead, many more than she had dared to hope had survived unscathed. She also was relieved to be alive herself; she was giving Arthur her brightest smiles.<p>

Arthur ducked his head and prayed that she didn't say anything, because he didn't want to get her husband's attention.

(Also, he was beginning to realize that this was the second of Balinor's family he had saved, and he just refused to let the king be next.)

Balinor did not pay Arthur any notice. He seemed to have forgotten the blond's part in defending the town.

There was no point in spending the night in the town; there weren't the supplies or the inclination, and so Balinor and his men mounted up and rode away. The king spoke to Merlin for most of the time, and Arthur stayed behind them quietly (not getting noticed, thank goodness), listening as the king insisted they arrange the search parties by the next morning.

"They are going to get ahead," Merlin warned his father again and again.

"There aren't that many places to go," Balinor said.

Arthur kept his ears perked. Knowing how they thought in situations like this might come in handy for him one day. He knew what he would do if he was Cedric: move fast, split up the men, loop back around if at all possible and stay low until the danger was past. If the danger passed.

Arthur remembered Cedric as small, quick, fawning, smart, and startlingly rat-like.

They spent the night on the road, making camp and throwing up tents. The soldiers and sorcerers were quick at this. Arthur could be, too, but he decided instead to stick with those who were cooking and try to make an edible meal.

Arthur had plenty of time, too, to think about his new revelation—not Cedric, he'd meant what he said. That wasn't his business at the moment, though he would have to get the word to his father when he got the chance. No, it was Merlin who was worrying him now.

His father's knife was still hidden by his side where it belonged. Arthur was supposed to kill someone. He'd been planning it all this time, and to just not do it… That wasn't right. It was like betraying his father, going against what he'd promised.

And his people _needed_ this. They were suppressed to the point of breaking. They didn't think they could win; they thought they were doomed to die.

Arthur couldn't help doom them.

Why did he have to go after Merlin, then? He knew someone else would work—but who was there? One of Balinor's council? That wouldn't be much help at all. Balinor himself? Arthur would never have the chance. Merlin was the best and easiest option.

But Arthur couldn't kill him. Someone else would have to, because he had become friends with the prince and Arthur didn't kill his friends.

* * *

><p>Gwaine shook his hair out. "So, what does he want to talk to us about?"<p>

Elyan gave him a disapproving look. He didn't really mean it, though. He really rather liked Gwaine, but as with many of Gwaine's more responsible friends (such as Gwen and Arthur) it was just a natural thing to do by now—after Gwaine said something with that I-think-I'm-a-rogue grin, give him the sideways look of disapproval.

"I'm not sure," Elyan said. "I assume he'll tell us when he gets here."

"You ever been in here before?" Gwaine asked, looking around the permanent structure of Uther's shack. "I haven't. He's the only man I know who lives inside an actual house."

"I followed Leon inside once. It wasn't this shack though, it was the last one." Elyan's hands were twisting in his lap.

"Are you worried?" Gwaine asked. He and Elyan were both sitting down on chairs against the bare wall.

Elyan shrugged.

It was then that the door opened and Uther came in. Both young men set up straighter, eyes on the leader's face. Uther was a fearsome man still, wearing rusted armor as always, but his sword at his side gleamed like his crown would if he still had it. The scar above his eye gleamed, matching the ones that could be seen peeking out above his shirt collar. He was a man who carried himself like he'd never lost anything as long as he kept himself together, and he deserved – and got – respect. Even Gwaine didn't backtalk Uther Pendragon.

Except for his occasional bouts of paranoia where magic was involved, he was someone to be taken seriously, who didn't show off his weaknesses.

But he had one, everyone knew that. A young blond man who'd been missing from their lives for more than a week.

"Good afternoon," he greeted them both, appraising them and making Elyan shift uncomfortably. "I see you are here as I asked."

"We came as soon as Leon got us, sir," Elyan said, nodding his head. "I hope you weren't waiting."

Uther waved it away. "It is about my son."

Elyan and Gwaine locked dark eyes for a moment. They'd figured.

"Has something happened to him?" Gwaine asked. Gwaine rarely had trouble saying so when he was worried, but he had a rocky relationship with Arthur—they cared about each other, but it was like it was some sort of contest as to who could show it less.

"Not to my knowledge," the once-king replied. "I simply need to check up on him. If he has knowledge to pass on, or requires some assistance, we need to be informed. I chose the two of you because I was under the impression that you are friendly with my son."

"We would be… glad to check on Arthur," Elyan said, wincing at his choice of words. Glad? Should he have said _honored_ or something? _Pleased_, perhaps?

Uther nodded. "You will have to go unnoticed around Camelot."

"Not drawing attention is what we do best!" Gwaine declared, earning a Look from Elyan and another of a different sort from Uther, who looked a little like he wanted to throw the long-haired man out right now. Gwaine had forgotten who he was talking to, but he smiled and refused to be ashamed.

"It's just the two of us?" Elyan asked.

"Yes." Uther looked satisfied. Leon had wanted to go, of course, but it couldn't be done. Uther understood his desire to see Arthur—the once-king shared it, but the scars on their chests made it impossible, even if Uther's face wasn't too recognizable.

Gwaine seemed to decide it was safe to speak again. "Will we be leaving in the morning?"

"You will be leaving in the morning. Unless you have further questions, you are dismissed." Uther gestured towards the door in his kingliest manner, and Elyan and Gwaine stood – resisted the urge to bow – and left the room, already talking about how to prepare.

Uther watched them go before turning away from the door and to his table. It would be more days before he would see his son again, while the two he just sent out would see him tomorrow. Sighing, he traced with his finger the new deep, narrow dent in it from the knife he had given to his son.

**A/N: What is this? They've changed ff net again! I leave for five days! Five! What is with this new review thingy? *pokes it***

**Speaking of review-thingies, use that new thing (see how easy it is now?) and do send me some word on what you think. Not my favorite chapter, but it's getting there. **


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: If there is any confusion (and since one guest asked me to clarify), Cedric is from 2.01; The Curse of Cornelius Sigan. Also, since there were so many awesome reviews last chapter, I got all excited and decided "what the hey, I'll post this chapter really early". I have no willpower. Silly me.**

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><p>Balinor's men caught up with Cedric the day after they returned to Camelot.<p>

Arthur's interest extended to wanting to know if it was Cedric's stupidity or Balinor's proficiency that decided the capture, but when Morgana told him, he wasn't overly concerned.

"I'm glad, Lady Morgana," he said, eyes flickering around the hall. There was no one else there. He looked out the window at the darkening sky. "You really need to stop talking to me alone," he then said. "Someone's going to notice."

She was flushed and ignored his protest. "They only caught Cedric and one of his men, but they identified him as the leader of the scattered men. They had asked to stay the night at the house of a dry family."

"Good, then the attackers would have to form a new group to do any attacking," Arthur said, not quite sure why Morgana was fretting. "And if Cedric has been recognized as the leader, that takes the blame away from…" He looked around again. "Us."

She twisted her hands in front of her skirt. "You don't understand, Arthur," she said. "They arrested the family, too."

Arthur's eyebrows came together so fast she practically heard them _crunch_. "A Mundane family? A legal one?"

She nodded. "Followers of the Old Religion. Parents both Mundane." Because it would be hard to find anyone else to marry, Arthur noted. "And one little girl. No sign of magical power, six years old. Yeah, they were arrested."

"_Why_?"

"Because they were housing criminals!" Morgana snapped, frustrated.

"Did they know?"

"Of course not!"

There was a second of silence as Arthur blinked, rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to understand what had happened and why. Trying to comprehend.

And when Morgana spoke again, it was in a quieter voice. "Balinor wants to execute them all. Part of his new, stricter ideas."

The sky outside was nearly black. Arthur was supposed to be taking care of Merlin, finishing up for the day, heading to the physician's chambers to sleep.

Anger cropped up suddenly, catching him off guard, and he forgot to check himself. "Well, what am I supposed to do about it?" he nearly yelled at Morgana, causing her to start. "What can I do to help? I thought you were supposed to be taking care of things like that. Aren't you supposed to have some sort of influence or—"

She cut him off. "I've already enraged the king suitably," she remarked with a roll of her eyes. "I can't do any more good. I shouldn't have gotten so angry."

"Merlin, then," Arthur said. "Talk to him. He likes you, right? He'll talk to his father."

Morgana took a deep breath. "I want you to talk to Merlin for me."

"_Me_?" Arthur would deny that his voice rose an octave. "What do you suggest _I_ do?"

"Talk to him."

"Why me? He knows you better!"

"But he's used to me arguing. He'll have heard about me talking to his father. I'll try, but he isn't going to want to listen. And I'm going to talk to his mother right now, so I don't really have time. He likes you a lot, Arthur; he admires you."

"He's known me less than two weeks," Arthur responded, crossing his arms over his chest. "How much can he _admire_ me?"

Morgana snorted like Arthur was missing something simple, like he'd failed to pick up on an easy move in sparring. "This family needs all the help they can get."

"But Merlin doesn't know how I feel about… magic," Arthur said. He looked around again. Still no one was coming. "And if he guessed… That…" He shook his head, going pale just thinking about it. He had to keep his cover. He couldn't let Morgana shake him, even if the family was in danger. She could convince Merlin by herself, surely. _Surely_.

"Arthur, they are going to be tried tomorrow. After that, there's no hope."

Arthur licked his lips.

"Arthur," Morgana said, begging. Her face was scrunched up in new anger, and Arthur knew she was about to berate him for cowardice, so he tried to prepare himself. But suddenly, her face lit up in inspiration.

She looked down. "They are being taken to the dungeons now. The little six-year-old girl is crying. She's got this dark curly hair…"

Arthur's jaw tightened and his teeth snapped shut so fast that Morgana heard them click together.

* * *

><p>"Arthur, you're a bit late, aren't you? I thought you just went to bring down my dinner tray."<p>

"I got sidetracked."

Merlin grinned at his desk as he ran his finger over an ink-dipped pen. "Sidetracked?" he repeated with amusement. "What, have you found a girl from the kitchens?"

"No," Arthur said without a smile. Merlin didn't seem to notice; he just made a mark on his paper.

"Really? A shame. I think that Sarah girl was staring at you at dinner yesterday."

"Was she?"

"Kept giggling, too. She's pretty, don't you think?"

"Not my type," Arthur replied. "I… was actually sidetracked by some news."

"Yes," Merlin said, eyes flickering around the page. "Isn't it great? They caught the leader. Our towns are safe for a while."

Silence on Arthur's part.

Merlin looked up with a tentative smile on his face, but then he saw Arthur's face and his own fell. "Oh," he said resignedly, pushing his chair back and standing up. He covered his ink well and threw his pen down like it had done something offensive, but feathers always wafted down in such a frustrating manner. When he looked back up at Arthur, his eyes weren't angry, but almost weary. "Don't tell me," he said. "You were sidetracked by Morgana, and she wants you to talk to me."

Arthur tried not to look sheepish.

Merlin went over to his changing screen, calling, "Toss me my nightshirt."

Arthur went for it and did toss it after balling it in his hands. Merlin caught it and went behind the screen. A second later his shirt was thrown over the screen, and Arthur went to collect it as Merlin came out dressed for sleep.

The red shirt was still warm from Merlin's body heat, and Arthur threw it unceremoniously over by the door, swallowing nervously. He would bring it down to the dirty clothes later.

Merlin faced Arthur.

"They probably didn't know," Arthur said.

Merlin sighed. "They were assisting criminals, Arthur. Murderers. Look, I don't… I don't really like it, either. But my father hasn't passed judgment yet. If it's fair, I'm sure that he won't…"

Arthur scoffed, suddenly finding his metaphorical feet. "Right," he said. "If he decides it's fair. I don't mean disrespect, Sire, but I think he's already made up his mind, with his new decisions. They'll be found guilty because they are Mundanes; they haven't got magic."

Merlin's face darkened. "My father is fair," he said. "He knows there isn't anything wrong with being… born unable to do magic…"

"He may try to be," Arthur said, trying not to aggravate the man before him. "But… how is it fair that something which might mean imprisonment for someone with magic might mean death for someone without it?"

"Magic helps you. It's part of life. It helps you make decisions. Mundanes are… susceptible to lies, to evil. That's why so many rebel."

Arthur gawked. _Those _were the lies they'd made up? "Who told you that?"

Merlin looked lost for a second, like he'd thought it common knowledge. And slowly, he said, "Nimueh."

"Your mother is Mundane!"

Merlin's face was dark again. Neither had noticed that they were getting closer, so now they stood only an arms-reach apart. "My mother is special," he said. "Why do you even care so much?"

Arthur opened his mouth and shut it. He'd said too much. Merlin had asked that question. And what was his excuse. That he wanted a land where everyone could believe what they wanted? Something that neither his father nor Arthur's father wanted to make happen?

"I knew this girl," he said at last. "She… she was a pretty girl; she had big dark eyes and curly hair. When… when she was nine, her father was executed."

"Why?" All the irritation had fled from Merlin's face at the softness in Arthur's eyes.

Arthur couldn't look at Merlin's eyes. "They found out he had sympathies for the New Religion." To put it mildly, he thought. "That's what he'd practiced before your father took power." He could see the barriers starting to go up, so he hurried on. "They tried to drag her away, too. I don't know if they were supposed to. Some of the soldiers… tried to hurt her."

Merlin's face had frozen.

"She ran to me, because we were friends. I remember that she was so terrified. She was crying and her dress was ripped. They didn't come after her, but her father was tried and he burned." He swallowed away the pain. He could still remember Gwen's sobs. His father had hidden her away, but she'd only cared about her father, and they'd tried to help, but it was no use. There was no hope for escape. "But she grew up," he said. "She was soft, kind, funny. She had the best smile, and her teeth were bright. She always made me think of silk like rich women wore."

He was smiling now, and his expression was mirrored in Arthur's face.

"She was always doctoring, too. I thought of her when I met Gaius. She would have loved to get her hands on his things, to be able to help people who fell and broke their bones. She couldn't get educated, but she learned what she could. I think some young men started pretending to be injured just to get her to try and take care of them." He laughed, because in fact he _knew_ that was the case, but she'd taken to ignoring Gwaine unless she saw blood.

Merlin had stepped back. "What happened to her?" he asked.

Arthur blinked, waking himself. "I don't know," he lied. "She's gone. She left, and I don't know what happened to her. And Sire, she didn't have a lick of magic in her entire body, even if she tried until she pulled muscles. She was Mundane, but she was the least susceptible to evil of anyone I've ever met. _That's_ why I care."

He rubbed his hands together and looked down.

He heard Merlin exhale heavily. "Well," the prince said. "I can certainly understand." Merlin ran his hand through his hair and took another deep breath. "You… You're a good man, Arthur. Compassionate. I will talk to my father. Sometimes he may be a bit blinded. Some of the… new ideas may be a bit too strict. And I'm sure my mother will talk to him, as well."

Arthur smiled in relief when Merlin turned away to head towards his bed. For the first time, he saw a future for Camelot where there was hope.

* * *

><p>Merlin didn't sleep well that night.<p>

For a long time he lay in his bed, staring up at the cloth surrounded his bed and thinking. He couldn't get his mind off the conversation he'd had with Arthur, as much as he told himself to put the thoughts away and rest his tired body.

He thought of the girl Arthur had told him about with look in his eyes that spoke of affection. She'd lost her family because of the laws of Camelot. Because her father liked another religion.

He'd known things like that happened when people elected to disobey the law. And it was right, wasn't it? People did things they shouldn't and got executed sometimes. It wasn't good, but it had to happen.

But he didn't have to like it.

_I wish I knew what happened to her, where she is now. _

* * *

><p>Arthur got to sleep late, too.<p>

He could have collapsed into his bed and slept immediately, but Morgana again came out of nowhere and dragged him off, demanding to know how the conversation went.

"He's going to talk to his father," Arthur promised after he had recounted as much of the story as he could, rubbing his eyes with a yawn.

"What if Balinor won't listen, though?" Morgana asked, her eyes beady in the dark.

"I don't know, Morgana. I don't know."

* * *

><p>Many denizens of Camelot were up and about when they had no business to be that night.<p>

Lancelot wasn't sleeping, either.

Percival couldn't believe that Lancelot had forgotten to mention the cut on his arm to anyone after Ealdor. Lancelot's defense was that it was small, but Percival insisted that it hadn't been even been cleaned, and it was warm.

"It might be infected. It can be easily healed. Go to Gaius."

Percival ordered people about rarely, but when he did, they listened. Lancelot knew that the cut could be healed in seconds by anyone who was less than horrible at healing magic (which meant that it couldn't be him, Percival, or Merlin), but he hadn't wanted to bother anyone at first, and then it had stopped hurting and he had forgotten about it until Percival spotted it as they left the tavern.

And so it was that instead of sleeping, Lancelot went to the physician's chambers. He knocked politely at first. There was no answer.

After waiting several seconds, he knocked again. No answer.

Lancelot shrugged and pushed the heavy door open, looking about the silent room. Empty. Of course, Gaius had already gone to his house to be with his wife. Lancelot shook his head, resisting the urge to hit himself on the head. Any emergency cases would be taken to Gaius's house.

Then why wasn't the door locked?

Lancelot's forehead creased. People could steal things if the door was unlocked, and Gaius had dangerous potions and poisons in this place.

Maybe Arthur forgot to lock it. If Arthur slept here, it made sense that he would lock it closed at night if Gaius did not. Perhaps Arthur had forgotten; that made sense.

Lancelot headed for Arthur's room in the back, figuring he may as well tell the servant so that the room could be locked this time. Then he would wait until morning to find Gaius.

Everything happily planned out, Lancelot knocked on Arthur's door.

There was no answer. _Sleeping,_ the knight figured. He knocked louder, and when that failed to produce results, he opened it. Arthur's bed was unmade and clothes scattered the floor, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Lancelot knew he should go away. But instead he pushed the door open further and stepped inside. On the bedside table, a small bag of coins sat—probably whatever money he had to his name added to last week's salary. Several articles of clothing decorated the room, but most were centered on a piece of very thick cloth—doubtless what he'd used to pack everything.

Lancelot stared at it for a moment and walked over to it. Old, yes, it was very old… But well-cared, clean, and thick. Who took that much care of a piece of cloth? It must have been expensive, but that didn't make it normal.

There were holes poked in it. Small ones, like embroidery had been ripped out.

At this point Lancelot knew he should leave it and go, but instead he pulled all the clothes off of it and held it up before his eyes. He stepped out into the light of the main chambers and held the cloth up before a lamp, leaning back.

He thought he could make out a pattern in the holes, though they had shifted and he couldn't be positive. But he thought it looked like… Like a dragon curled in on itself.

Lancelot caught his breath.

_I have to be wrong._

Everything with the Pendragon crest should have been destroyed. How would a mere servant come by something with it?

He could be wrong, and Arthur could have picked it up off the side of the road.

_But it is awfully unsettling that the prince's servant has something that bore the crest of the Mundane king,_ Lancelot thought as he crushed the cloth in his fist, thinking.

Well, perhaps… Perhaps there was a way he could find out.

Lancelot rushed back to Arthur's room, looking over his shoulder unless the man in question came in, threw the cloth back the way it had been, and piled the clothes on top of it, as much like it had been when he came in as he could manage.

When there was no evidence he had been there, Lancelot went for the door. He had to make a trip to the dungeons.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: So I was hit by writer's block halfway through this chapter. I knew what I wanted to happen, but it wouldn't. My brother's advice was to beat up the main character so the lesson would be learned. That failed to help, and so he kindly wrote several sentences for me to help me along. Unfortunately they didn't make it to the final cut. I decided to treat you to them, verbatim. Unchanged. **

"Arthur cried like a little woman. Merlin walks up to Arthur. He says pull it together man there are little girls watching.**"**

**There you go. You enjoy that? I did.**

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><p>Cedric was not a brave man. Not unless he had to be.<p>

He was best at ingratiating himself into favor with those who were brave but stupid and being the brains of the operation. That's what he told himself. Toadying, others called it, manipulation. He called it using his brains instead of his brawn.

When he'd found that the Pendragons did not take his advice, he'd thought he was stuck. Until he discovered that several people agreed with his way of doing things, not Uther's, and he broke off to form his own group of Mundanes who did things his way.

The ambush had almost worked, too. The idea had been brilliant, he thought, if only he had had more men at his disposal.

But it was too late to try it again, unless the cell door opened by magic and he waltzed out.

Cedric was not a brave man, but nor was he a sniveling coward. He knew he could do nothing now to change his fate, and so he would be stoic as long as possible. He hadn't been sentenced yet, but he did not look forward to it. The best he could hope for was a branding followed by beheading.

Cedric leaned back against the cot which he had claimed for himself. The other man in the cell sat against the wall, head in his hands, silent as the grave. He closed his eyes and steadied his breathing.

He heard footsteps approaching with his sight no longer distracting him. He focused—they weren't the guards passing. These steps were not trudging and bored. They were steady, uniform, and determined. Someone was coming to pay him a visit. Someone important, no serving wench or stable boy. Someone with rank.

He opened his eyes.

He didn't recognize the knight who stepped into the torch light, but he sat up to get a better view of him. The man had almost long brown hair and a tender face. He _looked_ like someone noble, Cedric thought with disgust. Handsome. Cedric did not like handsome men; he never really had.

The knight eyed him. "You're in charge?" he asked. "I mean _were_. You were in charge." He was polite and business-like. But he wanted something. He must. When Cedric nodded wordlessly, he went on. "I'm sorry. I don't know your name."

"And I don't know yours," the skinny man answered, standing. He glanced at his companion, but the man was in despair and did not move.

"Lancelot," the knight responded, his chainmail glittering in the fire's glow as he stuck his chest out. There was pride there, but not pride for himself—pride for his knighthood, if Cedric was right.

"Cedric," Cedric told him, coming up to the bars of the cell to hear him better. Lancelot took a careful, measured step back. They did not shake hands.

"I have a question for you," Lancelot said.

Cedric looked at the window. "Are all interrogations in Camelot carried about so late at night?" He wasn't worried. If Lancelot had planned on hurting him, he would not keep a cell door between them, and he would not have backed up.

"It isn't an interrogation. I just have a question."

"I don't know where my men went. They scattered."

"That's not the question!" Lancelot nearly snapped, but kept his head.

Cedric smiled thinly. "I will do my best to see if I can answer."

"I want to know if you recognize the description of a certain man," Lancelot said. "He's blond. Blue eyes, light skin. Strong, wide shoulders, not particularly tall. He is good at sword fighting, but probably not a soldier or knight. He can fight with his fists."

"Is that all you have?"

Lancelot's face twitched. He tried to think of something else to identify him by. "A handsome man. Goes by the name Arthur. I don't know if it's real or…"

Suddenly Cedric quietly gave a throaty chuckle, leaning his head forward onto his fists clenched around the bars and closing his eyes. An empty smile stretched across his face, looking like it might crack his face.

"You know him?" Lancelot asked, leaning forward eagerly. If the Mundane knew him, then that would make it even more likely that he _wasn't_ wrong.

Cedric looked up, still grinning. The torchlight flickered against his face. "Why do you ask? What makes you think that I would know him?"

"I think he has Mundane connections," Lancelot said stiffly.

Cedric nodded like he'd expected it, now knowing for sure. Of course he recognized the man's description. "Now," he said slowly, "I have a question for _you_. How is that you, a knight of Camelot, managed to come into contact with Arthur Pendragon?"

* * *

><p>Balinor was under a lot of stress this day.<p>

Morgana was already mad at him, but that could be ignored if necessary—her he didn't need to spend time with. But now Hunith was threatening to not talk to him anymore, and Merlin had approached him this morning, clearly annoyed with him.

He grew very tired of fighting with Merlin. The boy – man, whichever – had passed the point in his life where arguing could be blamed on age. No, it was beginning to seem that Merlin honestly did not agree with his father on quite a few points. And that scared Balinor, because he was leaving Camelot to his son's care when he died. How could he make Merlin understand his policies and reasons?

He knew what he wanted. He wanted to send a message to everyone—that helping enemies of Camelot would not be tolerated. They were a danger to everyone within his country. The council had no problem with his plans.

But on a personal level, life was going to be hell if he passed judgment on the Mundane family.

Kings did not have friends; this was something he'd come to accept.

But even his wife, the most even-tempered woman he knew, was threatening to pretend she didn't know him for the next _year._

In the morning, when he called the council together, he sent for the family first. They would be heard – though of course he knew everything already; this was just for show – and then he would make his decision. The harder group first. No one would be able to argue with his judgment on the rebels, thank heavens.

He would go and talk to Kilgharrah after this. That always relaxed him.

Before the doors opened, Balinor looked around the room. The elevated throne offered a good view of the throne room; the long table with the older men sitting at it. The council. Hunith sat on his left; Merlin on his right. Morgana sat at the head of the table near the council members, several of which kept glancing at her like they couldn't keep their eyes away.

Not surprising. If she was talking to him, he would tell her that deep blue looked lovely on her. Morgana was a fiery seer, proud and aspiring, and despite several differences of opinion he hadn't given up hope that someday she would make a wife for Merlin. He didn't know much about where she had come from, but he knew where she was going.

Servants clung to the walls. Knights were scattered about; several were sitting, some were standing. Guards were at their positions. Two were behind him.

Merlin's new servant stood near the steps to the thrones, and Balinor could see his profile, though the light from the window just to his side threw many of his features into sharp shadow. He'd only been around about a fortnight, as far as the king could figure, but he looked comfortable. This was the first time Balinor had gotten a good look at him. Every other time they were in the same room, he had been distracted by something or someone.

He looked familiar, Balinor thought, momentarily distracted. He looked like someone that the king knew. His features… Soft, young features. But still so familiar.

Perhaps Balinor knew a father or uncle. Was that possible?

Balinor pushed the thoughts aside as the doors to the throne room opened. The guards marched in, the small family sandwiched between them. Balinor straightened and looked kingly.

There was talking, but Balinor ignored most of it. There was nothing he didn't know. And when there was nothing more to say, he waved his hand and demanded the attention of the room. Everyone tore their eyes away from the prisoners and to the king.

The little girl looked at him and began to cry. She was a cute little thing, not even all the way to her father's thigh, with curly brown hair. Her father immediately scooped her up, shushing her, his eyes burning.

Balinor was faintly offended. He might not be the best looking man any longer, but he had once been almost handsome—perhaps _regal_. Anyway, he didn't think he was really worthy of driving infants to tears. But he pushed his thoughts aside.

"I have made my decision," he said. "You have pleaded ignorance of the rebels' identity. Assisting criminals is a serious crime in Camelot." He could feel the eyes of the room on him. Morgana's fists were balling in her lap, he knew, and without turning his head he could see the tense stress lines forming on the faces of his family. "However, I believe your claim. You will not be imprisoned." The father of the family relaxed visibly and began to pet his daughter's hair. "But your actions did put Camelot in danger, and so I have determined that there will be a fine, monetary compensation. The amount will be decided later. Do not leave Camelot until the matter has been settled; if you do, it will be assumed that you knew and were purposely aiding an enemy of Camelot, and you will be punished accordingly."

There was a pause.

"You may go."

Quietly, the wife kissed her husband, and then took the child from him, holding her close. The grin was liable to split the man's face as they were escorted out of the throne room. Balinor did not care about them any longer, however. He glanced around the room to see the response of everyone else.

Hunith's hand was in his in a spousal manner. Merlin had his head back in evident relief, tapping his fingers against his seat's armrest. Morgana was smiling unabashedly at her ruler, and she kept glancing back at Merlin's servant, who paid her little attention but seemed to sag a little himself. As for the council, most of them were utterly indifferent.

Most of the people sat up when Balinor called out: "Bring in the others." None more so than Merlin's favorite knight, who leaned forward so fast that he nearly knocked himself over.

There were two of them, dirty men, one skinny and one big. The skinny one walked in front; he was in charge then. Both looked defeated and resigned as they were brought down the long room. Balinor sat back and watched them carefully.

The skinny one looked more aware than his partner. He kept glancing around. At one point he actually stopped and smiled, leering slightly. Balinor followed his gaze; he was staring straight at Merlin's servant, Arthur.

Arthur shifted uncomfortably and looked away, towards the window.

Balinor shook his head.

The trial passed quickly. It was really a formality, anyway, to have the people plead their case and then the king pass judgment. Everyone knew what his judgment would be. The men did not even try to defend themselves; they simply let their charges be read, and then Balinor passed judgment.

"For your crimes," he announced, "you shall be branded to show that the kingdom does not condone people such as you. Tonight you shall be beheaded."

He was being kind, he told himself; he would not be crossing any line to demand they be burned, but he wanted these people out and done with.

The skinny man (Cedric? Wasn't his name Cedric?) glowered as he was nearly dragged from the room. But Balinor was not bothered.

He looked around the room. Again, no condemnation from anyone important. The room lacked tension. Always preferable.

"Are we done for the day, then?" he asked the room in general, hands on the arms of his throne.

He looked around. Everyone was starting to stand, ready to leave and be done for the day.

"Sire."

Balinor turned around, eyebrows raised, looking for the voice which was trying to get his attention. Sir Lancelot stood before his throne, hastily dropping a bow, looking nervous. He was a quiet man, Balinor remembered, and he didn't like speaking aloud in public when it could be avoided. Though now he was a knight and was almost noble in stature, he couldn't forget that he had been born a commoner.

But he trained the men well.

"Sir Lancelot," Balinor said, turning to him. "You had another matter that needed to be addressed?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. We… It seems…" He looked at Merlin, who was watching him with confusion and sympathy, and seemed to take strength from the glance. "Sire, I believe there is a traitor at court."

Balinor sat up in alarm as everyone began to talk among themselves. "Quiet!" he ordered. "Why do you think this, Sir Lancelot?"

"I grew suspicious," Lancelot said. "But I didn't know specifics. Until I questioned Cedric last night – the guards can tell you I was there – and I discovered the identity." He still looked nervous, but before Balinor could snap at him to get to the point, Merlin took charge.

"Lancelot, who is it you suspect?" Merlin asked, leaning forward in a non-threatening, supportive manner.

Lancelot looked awkward for half a moment before he straightened with pride, reminding himself that he was a knight of Camelot. He looked the king in the eye. "I suspect Arthur, Merlin's manservant, is actually Arthur Pendragon, son of Uther Pendragon, the Mundane rebel."


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: I think I surprised a lot of you by having Lancelot take that route. Well, good. Surprise is good. Plus, it's still a reverse- whereas Lancelot keeps Merlin's secret, he outs Arthur's. Hope you enjoy this chapter too!**

The silence that followed Lancelot's pronouncement was nothing short of awkward.

It really wasn't as dramatic as he had imagined, announcing a spy – or traitor? – to everyone assembled. Many of them didn't even know who Arthur was, and so looked at each other with a bit of confusion and without even one gasp. Arthur blinked, once, twice. Merlin's eyebrows shot up.

The only people who reacted as they should were Balinor and Morgana, Lancelot noted as he glanced self-consciously around. She sat up like she'd been poked, and put her glass down as though afraid to drop it. Balinor stiffened and his face darkened, his head swiveling so he could take in the servant, so still stood immobile by the door.

The world seemed to slow for a moment, and then everything was back to normal, and Lancelot could breathe again as people began to wake up and whisper.

Arthur's face fell and he jerked in shock. There was fear in his eyes; Lancelot half-expected him to make for the door. But he didn't move, just looked at Merlin.

Merlin was the first to speak, as it turned out. "You're kidding," he said before he could stop himself, and shook his head at Lancelot's affronted look. "I apologize," he said, closing his eyes and holding up his hands palms-out. "Of course you aren't _kidding._ But you must be mistaken."

He looked at Arthur for support, and the blond gave him a look that was all fearful innocence.

"Sire, I've been suspicious from the start, and the prisoner reacted at once to the description of Arthur. He recognized the man when he was led into the room."

"But Arthur…" Merlin was shaking his head, having trouble coming up with the right defense. "He…" _Was what? _Why couldn't Arthur be the son of Uther, one of his father's men? Because Merlin trusted him? He'd known him two weeks. Because he'd shown no sympathy for Mundanes? Merlin remembered the conversation they'd had only the day before, about Arthur's young friend.

"Arthur saved my life," Merlin said, and looked at Hunith. "And my mother's."

Why didn't Arthur say anything? Why was he just standing there? Couldn't he think of any sort of defense for himself?

It was Balinor who answered his son. "If he is a spy, he would get close to you in order to get information, or even kill you."

It was that which seemed to wake Arthur from his silence. "I'm not a spy," he said, letting desperation leak into his words.

"Then how do you explain that Cedric recognized you?" Lancelot asked, a little irritated that there had to be all this explaining. It was so obvious to him. Why didn't everyone else see it?

"I don't know," Arthur said, meeting Lancelot's eyes. "Maybe he saw me when I was fighting in Ealdor. I was with you! I helped us win; I killed those archers. Why would I do that if I was working with them?"

"And why would Cedric call out a man he was working with?" Merlin added, looking relieved.

"Cedric was not working with Uther. You can ask him yourself. He is from a different group of outlaws," Lancelot said, beginning to flush. He was trying to protect the royal family. Merlin couldn't out-argue him now! He looked at Arthur. "And how _were_ youable to kill those archers? You've obviously been trained in combat."

Everyone was listening and watching with interest now. Some, like Morgana, looked near panicked.

"Arthur explained that," Merlin said at once. "He lived near an old, retired fighter."

"Uther Pendragon is an old, retired fighter," Lancelot replied.

Something flickered on Arthur's face. But then it was gone, real fear put right back. Fear of being discovered, Lancelot knew. Arthur had always seemed pleasant, and part of Lancelot was regretful about terrifying him so, endangering his freedom and life. But Merlin came first.

"I… I don't know anything about Uther Pendragon," Arthur said, apparently sincere. "I didn't even know he had a son named Arthur."

There was a second of quiet again, and Merlin, who had been momentarily silenced by Lancelot's words, suddenly stood up. "The son of Uther Pendragon would not be able to use magic. Arthur will be able to prove that's not him, then."

Arthur jumped like he'd received a jolt.

Lancelot pressed on, "Sire, have you ever actually seen Arthur use magic? I haven't."

"He told me he could," Merlin said, before realizing how childish it sounded.

Balinor brought his hand down on the arm of his chair with a slapping sound. "That will decide it, then. Merlin, your servant will perform some magic."

"I'm… I'm not any good," Arthur said, valiantly keeping the quiver from his voice.

"That doesn't matter," Merlin assured him. "It can be anything." He started towards Arthur, walking until he was right next to him, his face deadly serious but hopeful.

"Merlin, not so close," his father called. Several guards started to move closer.

Merlin looked back at Balinor, shock on his face for a moment. He opened his mouth to argue, but thought better of it and took one step back. "Arthur, just do a little magic."

"It gives me headaches," Arthur said. "Horrible headaches. I… don't want…"

"Perform magic," Balinor commanded in his most kingly tone.

"Just something small," Merlin said. "This is important. You can have the afternoon off to rest if the headache's too bad, I promise."

The panic on Arthur's face seemed to multiply. His eyes were the size of plates. He was sweating. "Something small," he repeated to himself. "Just something small." He looked around the room, feeling the eyes of every person there on him. His hand went to his side, but then his eyes met Merlin's and it drifted away.

In a low voice, he promised, "I wouldn't kill you."

Merlin didn't have time to look confused before Arthur moved. He lunged for the table with the whole council, and everyone rocked back in shock. Except Morgana, who immediately stood from her chair, just as Arthur grabbed it out from under her.

Arthur grunted from the weight as he wheeled around, wooden chair held out. Merlin had to stagger back to avoid being hit as Arthur sent the chair flying towards the window. Someone screamed.

The glass shattered with a sound like rain splattering fiercely on stone, ringing like a bell's echo as the shards fell outside around the broken chair. And Arthur, son of Uther, leapt out of the broken window onto the cobblestone ground of Camelot, and was running as he hit the ground.

"Guards! Knights!" Balinor snapped immediately, propelling himself to his feet. "After him!"

A flurry of motion filled the throne room as the knights and guards peeled themselves off the wall or jumped out of their chairs and ran for the door. Lancelot bowed to the king and then ran off to help his comrades. With all the commotion, only three people were standing but completely still.

Balinor, his face red and anger in his eyes.

Morgana, staring at the table as though she was trying to break it with her gaze.

Merlin, eyes straight ahead and nearly swaying, as though dazed.

Balinor's stare found Morgana first, asking a question. She met his eyes and turned red. "I thought he was attacking me," she explained herself, looking behind her where she no longer had a chair to sit in.

Balinor accepted it and turned to his son, who did not look at him.

Quietly, Merlin admitted, "I was wrong."

And then he snapped back, straightening and focusing. Shaking his head just once, he went to Morgana and took her arm. "Are you alright?" he asked her.

She nodded. "He didn't touch me. I'm fine. Is he going to get away?"

"No," Merlin told her.

He sought out Gaius, who was sitting at the table, looking stunned and dismayed. Merlin gripped his arm, and the old man looked at him. "I thought he looked familiar," he said.

Merlin waved his words away. "It's not important, Gaius. I'll pay whatever rent he didn't."

"Thank you, Sire."

The prince touched his sword to make sure it was still there, but of course he remembered to bring it, even though he wasn't going to use it. Merlin moved away from the long wooden table into the organized chaos of the room, his pale face quite emotionless, and then went to join his men.

* * *

><p>Arthur scrambled like mad down the street, hearing the shouts behind him, running in the direction of the gates of the city. If he just got out, he could make it. He knew he could escape then.<p>

_The gates will be closed,_ said a part of his mind. _They'll trap me in here. I can't escape. _

But he kept running, because he had to escape. Never mind if it was possible; he just _had_ to. His shoes seemed unable to get any traction on the stones; every step felt like he was slipping. He couldn't go fast enough. He had the energy but every footfall seemed to take a lifetime, and he just couldn't push off the ground fast enough.

He was running away from an entire army, he didn't know any places to hide, and they had magic.

Why was he moving so slowly?

When Lancelot had first called him out, he'd been afraid, but not as shocked as he might have been. He'd seen it coming from Lancelot's preamble of the accusation. He'd quickly realized that he was about to be discovered, but he hadn't known how everyone else would react, so he gathered every ounce of acting ability in his body and tried to look shocked and innocent.

He'd seen Morgana's shock, and instantly worried about her—perhaps she was less impetuous than she once had been, but if she threw herself into defending him, she would put herself in danger. They'd made eye contact for just a second, and she had remained silent, to his relief.

At least Merlin had been on his side. It was strange, having Merlin defend him when it was all true, and caused him more guilt than he'd thought it would.

And as they had talked, he just hadn't known what to say. How to defend himself without looking more suspicious? He could have talked, but there were no words to say, and so he'd remained silent until Balinor spoke up, said that Arthur might have planned to kill Merlin.

Because though he'd doubted it himself, he realized that he really didn't plan to give Merlin. With that thought to stand on, he'd denied Lancelot's truth.

"_I'm not a spy."_

And he'd remained panicked, stubbornly clinging to his lies, throughout the conversation. Except once, just once, when Lancelot observed that Uther was the old, retired fighter who had taught Arthur how to use a sword. The words Arthur had used had been lies, but not the meaning behind them. And for some reason, the fact that Lancelot noticed almost made him want to smile. But he kept himself under control.

They might have even been starting to believe him, until magic came up. Magic again. No wonder his father hated it. He had thought about using his knife, but decided if he threatened anyone, he was just more likely to get killed.

He could only thank God that Morgana had known to stand up when he'd gone for her chair. She might have been surprised, and she might not agree with everything he did or the man he followed, but she had grown up with him ever since her father died. They were practically siblings.

They were screaming after him. They were following him. A stitch ripped into Arthur's side, making breathing difficult, but he didn't stop, because they were gaining.

He tore past the peasants of Camelot, who all stared at the blond man running past with the guards on his back.

How many were following him? Ten? Fifteen? He didn't know. But there was the gate, coming close now, and he pushed himself harder to reach it.

It was closed.

Arthur crashed into it, wildly hoping his weight would cause it to swing open. It didn't, of course, but he gripped the metal in his hands and shook it, fury building up. He couldn't get away. _He couldn't get away. _

His face contorted as he pulled and shook, fighting to get out, to get away when they were bearing down on him. He screamed in frustration as the first of them reached him.

Hands. There were hands on him, on his arms and shoulders and side. Gasping, Arthur spun around and took out his knife. The one his father gave him. He slashed at the first who came at him, and he felt flesh give as he gave several of them deep cuts. But there were too many, and too soon his knife was wrested from his hands.

He threw punches, hit faces and stomachs, but then they had his hands. He wrenched but couldn't escape. They had his arms. It felt like he was being swallowed. They had his shoulders, and his arms were crushed up against his back. He struggled, still, not knowing or caring if they had blades pointed at him.

Something hit his face – it might have been a fist – but he didn't stop struggling.

He couldn't think past the blind terror.

All his life they'd told him you could get captured and killed in Camelot. He'd been told it was the end, the end of the world and the end of your life when they had you. They'd hurt you. His father, Leon, his friends, they'd told him not to get caught in Camelot.

Arthur continued to fight, but they had him firmly now, and were dragging him away, back to the castle.

He had known he couldn't actually escape. Perhaps he'd known it since he first stepped foot in Camelot.

_I'm going to die. _


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: If I didn't reply to last chapter's reviews, I'm sorry. Very few people's seemed to actually be signed in. I'm not sure if I just got a heck of a lot of anons or if something messed up. But judging by who reviewed and some of the sign offs, I think there was a mess up. I appreciate every review, even if I can't respond!**

**Happy Independence Day, fellow Americans!**

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><p>They dismissed the court.<p>

Only Morgana, Balinor, Hunith, and several guards remained inside the throne room.

Or so Merlin guessed, judging by the amount of people that passed him by and whom he didn't see out in the hall. He personally didn't make it past the hall; that was where he was cornered by Nimueh.

_Cornered_ might be an unnecessarily forceful word, actually, since in all fairness she really just came and stood in front of him to engage him in conversation. But she was a forceful person. He felt like he'd been cornered.

"So," she said, her eyes glittering as the people walked around them. "They found the son of Uther in our court. Do they have him?"

"Hello, Nimueh," he greeted her drily. "It's nice to see you too. You decided to come down from your tower?" Usually he was afraid of her, but he was a bit more grown now. And he was angry.

"It's a library," she replied. A library in a tower. "Yes, when I heard." No one had the time to go tell her. Seer's power, Merlin figured, or whatever she called it when she leant over her dark liquid-filled bowl. She went on, "Does your father have him?"

She looked too triumphant.

"No," he said. "Arthur escaped right now, but they are chasing him down as we speak. We'll get him."

She smiled at him. "He was posing as your servant and you didn't notice? Perhaps you _do_ need to go back to your lessons."

He didn't smile back. His head hurt and his stomach felt hollow. "Nimueh, you know as well as I do that there isn't a spell in the world that will tell you a person's heart or intentions."

"You're supposed to be Emrys, the most powerful of them all," she reminded him.

She always had to tell him that. "I'm only two decades old," he told her. "Perhaps, by the time I'm your age, I'll know every bit of magic in the world."

She sucked on her cheek, offended, but he had turned away.

"Sire!" he heard someone call, and made his way to the hall which opened out into the courtyard, with nothing to separate inside and outside but pillars. Nimueh was right behind him.

"What is it?" he called to the guard who had called, who was running towards the castle as fast as he could in his uniform.

"They caught him at the gate," the man called. "They're bringing him here."

"Very well. Take him to the throne room," Merlin ordered, face set though his stomach turned. His father would want to pass judgment officially.

When Nimueh laughed, it was nearly a cackle. "Good," she said decisively. "He'll get his. The Pendragons will pay for what they did."

Merlin spun around and met her eye, wanting to tell her that she was wrong, for some reason wanting to protect Arthur from her bitterness. He wanted to remind her that a son wasn't responsible for his father's crimes, but he didn't think he could speak for his father on that.

So he settled for just looking at her. The laughter stopped, but she did not look ashamed.

_Witch, _he thought, taking rare pleasure in his silent malice, _shouldn't you go back to haunting children's nightmares?_

But he bit his tongue, said nothing, and turned away, squashing down all the anger.

* * *

><p>Merlin stalked back into the throne room and looked at his parents, who were deep in conversation. From the expressions on their faces, they were not agreeing. He glanced at Morgana, who had moved to the head of the table, since she was the only one sitting there and she probably wanted to be as close to the action as possible. She looked tired.<p>

"Hasn't anyone told you to leave?" he asked her, faintly surprised.

"No," she said. "He dismissed the council, which I'm not technically part of, and I don't think he noticed I'm still sitting here." Her hands moved to her face as though she wanted to rub her eyes, but she had makeup on, so she pulled away.

Merlin nodded. "He's probably too distracted." He started to walk away, back to his throne, but Morgana caught his arm and he turned back.

"What is he going to do?" she asked quietly.

Merlin sighed and looked away. She looked concerned. Why would she be concerned? Why did she care? He glanced back at the door and saw Nimueh had walked in after him, but was still clinging to the wall. Finally the silence became too much and he met Morgana's green eyes again, smiling wearily. "What's the point in even pretending there's a trial?" he asked her. "Arthur ran away; of course he's guilty."

"What will his punishment be?"

Merlin gave her a hard look. "You know that."

She released his arm and sank back in her seat, blinking. "But he saved your life," she nearly whispered, looking breathless.

"He's the son of Uther Pendragon," Merlin replied.

She gritted her teeth. "He saved your _mother's_ life!"

Merlin exhaled roughly and turned away from her without answering, moving towards his father instead. He could feel Morgana's eyes still on him, but he ignored her as best he could. His headache was worsening rapidly. He'd visit Gaius as soon as he could. Sitting on his father's right side where he belonged, he said to Balinor, "They captured him at the gate. They're bringing him back here now."

Balinor looked away from his wife and nodded at his son. "Very good," he answered.

Merlin shifted uncomfortably. "Father, what are you going to do? What have you decided?"

The king looked grim. "It would be easiest to inflict the same punishment as the other rebels. But he isn't just another rebel. He's the son of Uther Pendragon, the biggest enemy the crown has. We aren't just punishing him. We're making a statement."

"He's not his father," Merlin pointed out with his eyes on the floor. He risked one glance at Nimueh—she could definitely hear them, despite the distance between her and the royal family. She was practically glowing.

"But he is of the same blood," Balinor responded easily. "He will be treated the same as Uther treated those with magic. He will be branded, and then burned."

Merlin thought the ceiling had swooped down and twisted a bit for a moment, and he stopped to make sure it hadn't—it wasn't so unlikely. He knew a spell that could make solid walls soft and malleable. No, it hadn't actually moved. That was just his nerves.

"Tonight?" Merlin asked with trepidation. "You're going to have a burning at night—and three executions at once?"

"No, we'll save him for tomorrow. I'll need a speech anyway."

Merlin surprised himself by emitting a noise which was nearly a giggle. _I'll need a speech anyway. _Of course. Why not turn the whole thing into a macabre show?

Merlin sat back in his chair as the guards finally arrived, spilling through the open door. Two knights led the way, swords out and ready. Two guards brought up the rear of the party. But there were four in the middle—it took four people to hold Arthur. Merlin's lips quirked.

Arthur was in the middle of the whole affair, a new bruise on his cheek. His head was down in a way that said he was defeated, and though he wasn't fighting, he looked like he'd just stopped struggling. His clothes were awry and his breathing was heavy and uncontrolled. The men forced him to the front of the room and pushed him down on his knees in front of the king, who leaned forward to get a better look at Arthur.

"You are the son of Uther Pendragon." It wasn't a question, but still left Arthur a chance to deny it.

Arthur looked up from the floor, rigid and tense. His blue eyes were flames of defiance as he took in Balinor's bearded face. He was so similar to Arthur's own father, and yet so different.

"Yes," he answered evenly. "I am Arthur Pendragon."

"What are you doing in Camelot?"

Arthur's face was throbbing. His chest felt tight when he breathed. He looked at Merlin, who didn't meet his eyes, but instead turned his stare past his parents to the window. Bringing his eyes back to the king, Arthur gave a tiny smile and managed to say past the fear in his throat, "Your son's laundry."

He heard Morgana make a small noise but ignored her as he tensed up, preparing himself for a hit. It didn't come, though the hands of the guards tightened threateningly on his shoulders. The king brushed his levity aside and leant forward further.

"You are spying on Camelot for your father?"

Arthur swallowed. "Yes," he said, his voice flat. Merlin let out a breath he probably didn't know he was holding, but his eyes didn't leave the shattered window.

"Have you passed on any information?"

Arthur's voice didn't vary; he still spoke in the same dead tone when he lied, "No. I haven't had any contact. I don't know why."

"Are you planning an attack?"

"No," Arthur said.

"Really? How about this: _Were_ you planning an attack?"

Arthur blinked, taking a second too long to come up with a response.

"Were _you_ the attack?" Balinor asked, his smile suggesting he found the idea pathetic but amusing.

"No," Arthur said. "I'm only here for information." It sounded like a lie, he realized. Of course, it was one. Why was his voice shaking _now_?

One of the guards spoke up, holding up the knife they'd taken from Arthur. "He had this hidden on him."

"Does he have any other weapons?" Balinor asked.

"No, Sire, we checked."

Balinor held his hand out for the knife and looked it over, taking in the way the metal of the blade shone and the hilt. The carvings in it stood out, made your fingers itch when you held it. It wasn't a large dagger, but it would kill someone easily. Balinor stood and held the knife's blade toward Arthur, glaring at him. Arthur couldn't see the blade; it was close to his throat, and if he wanted to keep it in his sight, he would have to take his eyes off of Balinor's face.

Balinor had an angry light in his eyes. "What was this for, then?"

"Defense," Arthur replied. He felt the metal touch his throat, just barely, and swallowed again.

Merlin shifted uncomfortably and brought his hands together, entwining his fingers and bringing them to rest in front of his face. "Father…" he said, but was ignored.

"Who were you going to kill?" Balinor asked Arthur.

For a brief second, Arthur worried that the king was going to spit on him. He didn't answer, just stared back in Balinor's face.

The metal was cold. "Was it my son?"

Arthur looked at Merlin, who shifted again and closed his eyes. The rebel's blue eyes drifted back to the king, and he didn't answer.

After several moments, Balinor drew away. "You will be branded," he told Arthur. "And in the morning, you will be burnt at the stake." He looked at the guards. "Bring him to the dungeons."

Their grip on the prisoner tightened further as they hoisted him up to his feet. He was turned around without ceremony and half pushed and half pulled out of the room. Those in the hall remained frozen, all eyes attracted to the sight of the exiting men, until the doors shut behind the guards.

And then Merlin opened his eyes and looked at Morgana. She had tears in her eyes, but she quickly turned her face away. He swallowed and looked at Balinor.

"Father," he said. "Perhaps it is too harsh."

Balinor stared at him, shocked. "Merlin, he is the son of our worst enemy."

"Uther never seemed too threatening to me," Merlin commented. "Plus, he did save my life. And Mother's."

"In order to get closer to you! He would have killed you!" Balinor blustered.

_"I wouldn't kill you." _That's what he's said. Merlin didn't know what it meant, precisely: that he never planned to kill Merlin or that he wouldn't now? But either way, he believed that Arthur had meant it. And then there was his mother's life to think about. Merlin shook his head at his father. "Whatever his intentions, he saved me. And Mother. She doesn't have any magic. Was he planning on killing her later, too?"

"You would let an enemy of Camelot go free!" Balinor yelled.

Merlin stood up, on the defensive. "I'm not saying not to punish him!" he nearly shouted, before getting control of himself. "I'm just saying… Maybe less harshly."

"I disagree," said Nimueh from across the room. She stood, walking towards the family, her blue eyes flashing. She looked every inch a High Priestess. "After the crimes his family has committed against the Old Religion and those who practice it? No punishment is too harsh. You made the right decision, Balinor. Your son is tender-hearted, but he was also not there when Uther betrayed our kind."

"For the person who helped bring Arthur into this world, don't you think that you're a _little_ too intent on taking him out of it?" Merlin asked her, and she snarled at him.

"Son!" Balinor cried. "Do not disrespect a Priestess."

Merlin sniffed. "I did not mean to be rude," he told her, though she knew that he had. She smirked at him.

Hunith spoke up, her quiet voice demanding attention. "I agree with Merlin," she said. "He did save my life. Perhaps it shows that he is different."

Balinor stood next to his son, banging his arm on his chair as he rose. "I have made my decision!" he snapped. "And it stands! Do not question me." He looked at Merlin, who stared back stonily, and Balinor let himself soften. "A king must make decisions which are hard sometimes. Decisions he dislikes." He grew stern again. "If you do not understand that, you are not ready to be king."

That was like a slap in the face, and Merlin felt the sting. He straightened and looked at his father without blinking. "I have no doubt that I am not ready," he replied. "And I do understand. I understand your decision. But I say, without meaning any disrespect, that I do not think you _disliked_ sentencing the son of Uther."

Then he spun on his heel and walked away, down the few steps, away from the thrones, and to the doors. He opened one, looking small against its giant size, and walked out.

After several seconds of inactivity inside the room, Morgana, who had not spoken at all, got up, wiped her eyes, and followed him.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Intense enough?**


	21. Chapter 21

Merlin went down the hall with purpose, though he was just going to his chambers to drink a glass of wine and perhaps throw pillows at the wall.

Before he had gotten more than a few steps, he was stopped again. Only this time, instead of Nimueh, it was Lancelot that accosted him.

"Merlin," he said almost apologetically. "Sire. I wanted to say…"

Merlin waved his words aside, effectively shutting him up. "I understand," he said. "I appreciate that you are vigilant, Lancelot, and that you have my best interests in mind. Thank you. But I don't want to talk."

Lancelot nodded respectfully and let the prince pass as he nearly stormed away, once again headed towards his rooms.

A minute later, Morgana came across Lancelot as well, still wiping her eyes dry. "Did Merlin come by this way? He's going to his rooms?"

"He did. He doesn't want to talk, though, milady."

"That's too bad," Morgana said.

She started to walk away, but Lancelot stopped her. "Milady," he said. "How were you so friendly with Arthur? You talked to him several times."

She stared at him icily. "I can talk to who I want, can't I?"

He blushed. "Yes," he said.

She kept it up for several more seconds, and then shook her head. "Your suspicions are not put at rest. Well, lest you attempt to get _me_ killed as well, I'll tell you." She was spitting venom like a snake, and it made Lancelot want to slink away. He'd wondered once if she was made of anything but the frosting of court life. It turned out she had more than just a petty temper. "Arthur is someone I used to know. No longer, now that I live here and train under Morgause. I wanted to make sure he wasn't planning anything that could get anyone hurt. You beat me to it!" Her eyes narrowed into slits. "Congratulations," she hissed, and with a twirl of her skirt, she walked away.

Lancelot let her go. He wouldn't have been able to stop her anyway.

* * *

><p>Merlin nearly slammed his door, sitting with a sigh on his bed and putting his head in his hands.<p>

_Well, you're going to need a new servant pretty soon. Guess you just don't have much luck with them._

He shuddered and told the morbid little voice in his head to be quiet.

He jumped when his door was thrown open again. Looking up, he groaned. "Morgana, no, please."

She walked in like a thundercloud, but the tears hadn't dried from her face yet. She glared at him, but soon enough the look faltered and her lip quivered.

"Oh, gods," he said, and opened his arms.

She didn't hesitate before walking forward and sitting next to him, putting her arms around him and sinking her head into his chest. He held her tight, his chin on her hair, and ran his hand down her hair.

Rocking gently back and forth like he'd seen maids do with unruly and tearful children, Merlin held her until her erratic breathing had returned to normal.

"There," he said. "Don't cry, Morgana." He started to pull away, but she clutched him tighter around his middle, so he sighed and surrendered. He supposed he should mention that it wasn't appropriate for them to be sitting on his bed like this, but if she didn't want to let go yet… Well, she was obviously distraught, and he wasn't going to push her yet.

"I can't," she said into his chest. He smoothed her hair some more.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Finally she pulled away. Her tears were gone, thank goodness. She bit her lip. "I'm sorry," she said. "I… that was silly. I was just so frustrated."

Merlin smiled shakily at her. "I understand."

"Thank you for trying," she said to him, smoothing her hand along the bedspread and not looking at him.

Merlin rolled his eyes and stood up. He couldn't fight the tiny smile on his face. "You didn't come up here to thank me," he told her. "And I don't think you came up here to cry, either. What is it you want?"

She put a valiant effort into being offended before her boundless energy got the better of her. "I want you to save him."

Merlin sighed. "Yes, I thought that might be it. You want me to save my enemy. Naturally. Makes perfect sense."

"Not because he's your enemy," she argued. "You like him. You think he's nice. Someone to talk to. Like a friend."

"I did," he agreed. "Until it turned out he'd been lying and was really the Mundane son of Uther Pendragon."

"Please," she said, pulling a face. "He's not bad. I know he's not. Please, save him before tomorrow morning."

Merlin pulled his chair out at the table in his room and sat down on it, glad of the opportunity to look at her burning face. He sat down and faced her again. "How do you suggest I do that? My father has passed sentence."

She shook her head violently, then propelled herself to her feet and began to pace. "I don't know!" she cried. "I know the cells are magic-proof, but there has to be something. Some way to, I don't know, sneak him out. I'll help. I'll do anything."

"Commit treason?" Merlin demanded. His eyebrows rose. Her ideas were tempting, but at the same time, they weren't. Because he didn't _want_ to save Arthur. Did he? "Okay," he then said. "This isn't just compassion or some kind of attraction, is it, Morgana? Why are you so determined to save Arthur?"

She stopped walking and twisted her hands in front of her. Her dress was blue, he noted distantly. Blue and silky, with a silver brooch. She looked up at him through her eyelashes.

"Do you want to know, really?" she asked.

"Yes, that's why I asked." He leaned back, calm and collected.

"Can I trust you not to tell anyone?" she asked.

He closed his eyes with exasperation, but she really was nervous about telling him the truth. "Morgana, I swear I won't tell anyone even if you're his secret wife or long-lost daughter."

She smiled for a second. "No," she said. "But I grew up with him. See, Merlin, Uther practically raised me. My family, Morgause's family, we were friends of Uther before he lost the throne. When Balinor overthrew him, Gorlois wanted to support him still, but his wife – Vivienne – she left him. See, Uther nearly killed her oldest daughter. That's Morgause. They had to hide her during the Purge. But Vivienne left her other daughter, me, in Gorlois's care. He didn't defy Balinor, but he always had sympathies for Uther. He stayed out of the magic affair, mostly, but he was killed in battle when I was young, and so they sent me off to be raised by Uther because they couldn't find my mother. I don't think she'd have wanted me anyway."

She looked at Merlin, and he looked back at her, nodding, urging her on. He was reeling, but it didn't show on his face. She took a deep breath and went on.

"So I grew up with Arthur. We were raised together. Well, we were. Not too long ago I realized I had magic. Well, I knew how Uther felt about that, and if I'm going to be frank, I never liked him anyway. And magic was my chance to throw off how I was raised. So I left him and came to Camelot. I didn't send word. I didn't hear from Arthur until I turned around, sitting where you are now, and dropped my wine glass. You remember?"

"I remember," he answered. "So you grew up with him. You grew up with Uther. I can understand why you didn't want to tell me."

She sucked in her breath and stepped closer to him. "Well, it's a little more than just that," she admitted. "See, my father… Gorlois knew, and he insisted Uther tell me. He told me to make sure Uther confessed. It's the reason my mother wouldn't want me. Morgause doesn't know. I haven't told anyone. I haven't even told Arthur." She licked her lips and gathered every last thread of courage she had. "Gorlois wasn't my real father. I was conceived when my father was away on campaign. Uther is my father."

She looked at him hopelessly, throwing her hands into the air. "I'm the illegitimate child of the greatest enemy of Camelot, and Arthur is my half-brother."

He let out a surprised whistle. It was really all he could think to do as he ran a hand through his dark hair. "Well," he said. "We can't tell anyone about that. My father doesn't need to know. You haven't told my mother?"

Her eyebrows drew together in perplexity. "Why would I tell your mother?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Women. I know you two talk about a lot of things."

She went to him, grabbing his shoulder. "So don't you understand, Merlin? He's my brother. You have to save him for me, or with me. I can't do it by myself. Please. He's the most normal relative I have, and besides, I really do love him. Merlin, I can't watch them burn him."

She was staring at him with those green eyes, and he remembered how his mother had once told him that the right kind of expression had a magic that no one could purposefully work. He looked up at her from his chair and sighed, shaking his head. "And what would I even do with him if I could get him out?" he asked.

"Send him back to his people!" she cried.

Did he want to do that? Merlin knew he didn't want to watch Arthur burn, either. No, Arthur had been someone he liked. Someone he believed to be a friend. Someone who had kept him from being lonely. But if Merlin let him go – if he even could, and with Camelot's security, that was a pretty big _if_ – then he might come back. He was the enemy; Merlin had to remember that. He might make Merlin pay for his mercy someday, like a snake turning on him.

Merlin stood up so fast, his arm was whipped out of her grip. "I can't think," he said quietly. "Let me think."

He nearly fled his room.

* * *

><p>"Hold on, mate!" Gwaine said, catching his new acquaintance by the shoulders. "You've confused me, now. What attacks are you talking about? What executions?"<p>

The youth, a man with blue eyes too far apart and a ring on his finger, sighed. "You must be really new to Camelot."

"Just here by several hours," Elyan said, tugging on his cloak's hood from behind Gwaine. "We were supposed to meet someone here."

"There were a whole bunch of blasted Mundanes," the man, who had introduced himself as Gilli, explained. "They kept attacking all these towns, but the king and the prince and knights went to Ealdor and defeated them. They captured the leader and one of his men. They're being beheaded at sundown. In the courtyard. That's coming up pretty soon. That's what I was saying."

"Yeah," Gwaine agreed, "but there was a whole bunch of rubbish about another one. What other one?"

"Oh, him. I don't really know," Gilli explained, awkwardly scratching his neck. "A blond man. He got arrested here not too long ago. He was kicking and fighting the whole way, too. It was pretty sad, but he wasn't one from the attacking group. He's been in Camelot. I actually met him, when he had just arrived. About a week ago? Less than a month, I'm sure. He became the prince's servant. He seemed like a good man. I was surprised."

Gilli started to turn away, but this time Elyan stopped him. Gwaine couldn't. He'd gone rigid, and it wasn't from being saddle-sore due to the horses they'd borrowed, which were now grazing just outside Camelot.

"Why?" Elyan asked. "Why did they arrest the blond?"

"I don't really know," Gilli said apologetically. "One of the guards said something about traitors, and spies. I don't really know how reliable that was, though. But he's not being executed tonight, I know that. He's being executed tomorrow morning." Gilli shook his head. "I don't know what he did. But the king will probably announce it at the execution. Until then, only the people up in the castle really know for sure."

Gwaine looked at Elyan with wide eyes, and his dark-skinned friend nodded back. Both of them were going through curses in their minds.

"They're all acting strangely, I guess," Gilli commenting, his eyes on an approaching horse. "See? There's the prince. And he's leaving, right out of the city gates. Why would he do that at this time of day, without any supplies or anything?"

Gwaine caught Elyan's arm as the pale man rode past in a great hurry, face drawn. The two rebels met each other's eyes, and Elyan saw Gwaine's idea loud and clear through all the anger causing a maelstrom in his eyes.

Gwaine jerked his head to the side, towards the gate, behind which their horses would only be safe for several minutes.

Elyan nodded.

Gilli had his back turned, and he went on, "But then, I suppose, only royalty really understand themselves. It's been a strange day…" And then he turned to face his new friends. But they were already gone, running away from him at a great pace. His young face drew together in shock. _It _has_ been a strange day!_


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: I always think that Merlin's horse is named Tillie. I don't know if that's correct or not, but unless someone actually knows, I'll just leave it.**

* * *

><p>Merlin didn't go too deep into the woods. He got himself thoroughly out of sight before stopping, climbing down, and looping his horse's reins around a tree. He knew someone would need him again soon; Balinor would probably call him or something. Who knew what it would be this time?<p>

He supposed he should have told someone other than the stable boy that he was leaving, but he'd been in a hurry.

He'd thought he'd wanted silence.

As he patted his horse affectionately and stumbled away from it, finally sinking to a sitting position on the forest floor, he suddenly wanted company.

He groaned and closed his eyes. But who did he want as company? Not Morgana—she was obviously more affected by this than he was. Not his parents. They didn't understand. Not Lancelot—though Merlin knew he was trying to help, Merlin couldn't quite keep himself from being a little bit angry at his best knight. Lancelot was the harbinger of betrayal. _Don't shoot the messenger, _they said, but Merlin didn't want to talk to him now.

He'd have loved to be able to talk to Arthur. In the past fortnight, he had proven himself to be a great listener.

Because he was a spy.

Merlin cursed and ran his hand through his hair, trying to move past the pain in his gut.

Maybe Kilgharrah. Merlin liked the Great Dragon. He liked his dry humor and greater-than-thou attitude; and ever since his father had taught him to understand the dragon's riddles, Merlin didn't find him so frustrating anymore. Kilgharrah didn't mollycoddle.

Merlin could try calling to him in his own language. He'd learned some from his father. Unfortunately he couldn't make the dragon obey or even be sure that Kilgharrah would hear and heed until he inherited his dragonlord powers. But sometimes the dragon heard and came.

Merlin lifted his head to call, but suddenly it seemed like too much effort. He thought he'd actually rather sulk and roll about in self-pity a while longer, if it was all the same to the world.

He really should get around to making a decision. Morgana would be waiting to either rejoice or cease speaking to him forever and possibly go renegade herself. (Merlin made a mental note: if he decided to do nothing, _make sure Morgana was locked up._)

If he heard a horse, he paid it no mind. It was probably Tillie grazing around. He didn't even look around.

When he heard the footsteps, though, he couldn't miss them.

Something flared in Merlin's brain; an alert. There was danger, he realized as he leapt to his feet and spun around, hand out. His sword was at his side, but it would be more hindrance than help here.

Part of him expected to see Lancelot or Morgana standing there, having followed him, but he didn't. It was dark man he'd never seen before; black as night skin and a cloak attached around his shoulders. The hood was down, but Merlin felt that this was no friendly stranger.

It was either the way he was standing or the fact that he had tried to sneak up on Merlin, the prince figured, his fingers spreading apart as he prepared to cast a spell.

The dark man froze like a deer in light.

Merlin held his hand higher. "Who are you?" he asked.

"Who are you?" the man countered. He moved like a cat, Merlin noted, tensing.

"I asked you first," Merlin said with the faintest hit of a smile.

"Elyan," the man said, nodding in a way that was not a bow but managed to suggest it. He didn't have a sword, Merlin noted, but he had a long knife hanging at his side.

"Merlin," Merlin responded. "Why are you sneaking up on me?"

Elyan made a show of blowing out his cheeks, looking around in a way that was all false innocence. "I'm sorry, Sire," he said. "But you've got someone that belongs to us." And he reached for his knife.

It was a foolish move to make, but Merlin didn't pause to try and understand his reasoning. As soon as Elyan's hand jerked towards his knife, Merlin's eyes flashed gold and his innate magic came swirling to the surface. The dark man left the ground, flying like he'd been pushed by a giant, and came hurtling back towards earth.

Merlin didn't seem him land, because at the exact moment his magic flared in his defense, a rustle sounded behind the sense, and a sharp pain pierced Merlin's head and ricocheted down his spine. As he crumpled, his knees buckling, blackness came at him like an arrow fired from an expert archer. All he could think was: _I'm investing my time in a sensory spell so I don't get snuck up on anymore!_

And then two arms caught him underneath his shoulders, and Merlin blacked out.

* * *

><p>Elyan climbed to his feet, gasping, with his hand pressed against his hip where it had struck the ground. He glanced at Gwaine—his sword was out and in his grip, and he was supporting the unconscious prince under his arms. He grunted in discomfort at Merlin's weight.<p>

Elyan brushed himself off and checked his knife. Then he turned to Gwaine, rubbing his hip as pointedly as possible.

"Next time, I get to sneak up behind him," he said. Then he took another look at Merlin. "Did you kill him?"

"Knocked him out with the hilt," Gwaine responded. "He's going to have a headache, but he'll live."

"So what do we do with him?" Elyan asked, taking Gwaine's sword from him and helpfully putting it back in his friend's scabbard.

Gwaine looked at Merlin's horse, which seemed unhappy with this new turn of events. "Sling him over," he said. "You have a blanket? We can keep people from seeing him. We'll take him to Uther."

"What good will it do, though?"

"They have one of us. Uther will know what to do with a hostage," Gwaine said, and his gaze was dark. "Help me get him on the horse."

Elyan took Merlin's legs to ease Gwaine's burden. "It won't be any good, though, if Arthur's dead!" he snapped.

"We'll have to work fast."

"It's getting dark. We have less than twelve hours."

"Like I said, fast."

"What if he wakes up?" Elyan asked, giving up on his first point. "He'll escape."

"I'll keep him unconscious until we get to Uther," Gwaine said, nodding at his hilt. Elyan winced. He hoped they didn't have to use that too much—the prince would suffer permanent damage eventually. "Then, I know he has those leftover chains. You know the ones."

Elyan nodded as they grabbed a blanket from their saddlebags and went about hiding the prince's features. His hands started to shake with the pressure, but he thought he kept himself together well.

The clock was ticking, now.

* * *

><p>Arthur had been trying not to fall completely apart when they brought him to his cell, resulting in him being rather tense, almost paralyzed. He knew that even if he could move, he wouldn't be able to get away.<p>

The guards hadn't used magic on him—at least, he didn't think so. But the cell he was thrown into, smacking his sore cheek against the stone, was definitely enchanted. He didn't even need to check for sparkles or telltale signs; everyone knew that Camelot's cells were nigh inescapable due to magic spells.

People who had escaped Camelot before – people like Uther, Leon – hadn't been inside cells with no outside help when they did it. Arthur crushed that hope before it even took residence inside him. The only "outside help" he'd even be able to think of would be Morgana.

And no. _No_, he would not let her do that. Even if she wanted to.

He'd leapt to his feet when he could and tried the bars, anyway. He'd checked the window. Once, before he could get a grip on himself, he threw his body against the door. He had to stop himself, then, before he became injured for no reason.

He supposed it had been worth the try, but there was no escaping, and no company. They barely even needed to guard him—he didn't have the magic of a sick cat.

He collapsed into a corner of the cell, cold stones seeming to leach the heat from his back. He shifted so that his head could stay out of the light, but not hang—his neck ached that way. Eventually he just put it back on the stone wall and tried not to shudder when he felt the damp moss growing there. His arms hung loosely between his knees.

He sank as deep into himself as he could manage; his breathing grew even. His heartbeat was not rushed. From his various battles and small clashes, he'd come to realize that much of the time, peace was something inside, not outside. Like when he was drifting off to sleep, but meanwhile a search was being conducting for Mundanes barely a mile away, and Morgana was still shivering next to him where they hid. Times like that, sleep would be impossible if there was no peaceful core in his gut which he could delve into, allowing it to flow through his blood.

He was going to need it, because they were going to brand him, and when he thought about that, he remembered that he was completely _terrified._

Arthur closed his eyes as the light outside of his small window began to darken. He hadn't realized how much time had passed since Balinor tried the family and Cedric.

A sound made him start.

His heartbeat sped up, and his breathing quickened, but he quickly got ahold of himself. His eyes opened and he looked towards the door of his cell, through the bars, to see who had come to invade his solitude.

He couldn't say it was the person he least wanted to see right now. But then, he didn't want to see anyone right now—neither friend nor foe. There was no good news for him now.

"Morgana," he hissed, getting to his feet. He went to the bars, looking to either side—what if a guard saw her there? "What are you doing here?"

"I came to check on you," she said.

"You've seen me. I'm checked on. You need to get away from here now."

"Your face," she said, falling back into their back-and-forth inventory from childhood. "Is that the only injury?" She reached her fingers through the bars.

Arthur jerked back. "Yes," he said. "I'm fine. Morgana, your position here is precarious. You have no reason to be here. You need to leave."

She touched his face. He glared at her. "Here, I can fix it," she said.

He pulled away from the bars entirely. "Don't," he hissed. "I'm serious, Morgana. If someone uses magic to fix the bruise, someone might notice. We don't need suspicion cast on you."

She looked sad. For the first time, he noticed how her green eyes were wide and moist. "I want to help," she said.

He took a deep breath. "I know," he said. "You can help me. You can't get me out of here, so don't even think about it. You can help by finding some way to get word to my father. Staying out of trouble, being someone who can give the ruling family advice. You can help make things better for Mundanes that way. That will be help." Even as he spoke, he could see it. He could see Morgana succeeding where he had failed, just using subtlety. That world he'd told the dragon he wanted—one where things were just, where you could breathe fear regardless of what you thought… That could still exist.

"I told Merlin about me."

It all came crashing down. Arthur actually gasped. "What?"

"He won't tell anyone," Morgana swore. "I was trying to get him to help me." She looked around. "You know, to get you out of here. He's thinking about it."

"He won't do it," Arthur said. His heart jumped at the thought of getting back into the open air, but he wasn't about to set up himself or Morgana for that sort of disappointment. "You wouldn't even have the time. He won't."

"What makes you so sure?" she asked, pursing her lips in defiance. Her hands were clenched around his bars.

"I wouldn't if I were him," Arthur told her. "Disobey his father to help an enemy of his country? No, he won't. And Morgana, I need you to promise me that if he turns down your offer, you will _not_ try to rescue me by yourself. I need you to promise me that."

"I can't just leave—"

"Morgana, _please_!" Arthur snapped, digging his nails into his palm. His teeth were clenched, but he didn't notice. "You'll get us both killed and you'll be no use to me whatsoever. Please."

Morgana stopped and looked right in his blue eyes with hers, biting her lip. He looked like he wanted to leap out from behind those bars and shake her into swearing. He was losing his calm; she could see that. She closed her eyes for one moment. She nearly heard him panic at what he perceived as her denial.

She looked at him. "I promise," she whispered through her teeth, like it hurt.

The way he sagged in relief made it almost worth it.

"Okay," he said. "Thank you. Now, you might be allowed in here, but it will look suspicious if we talk for too much longer. Guards will come check. You need to get the hell out of here."

Morgana nodded slowly, her braided hair falling back behind her shoulder as she took a step back. She turned as though to leave, and then faced Arthur once more. "Press your cheek against the bars," she said, pointing to his non-bruised one.

He did as she asked, turning his head to the side, and putting his face against the bars. The metal was shockingly cold on his cheekbones, but he didn't shift, letting the fleshy part of his cheek be seen.

Morgana leaned forward, kissed his cheek soundly, and then pulled away again. Biting her lip again, she left Arthur.

He watched her go, half afraid that at any moment she would turn back and insist on staying with him, or something equally dangerous. But she didn't, and he admired the collected way she went—not a breath of fear or near emotional breakdown about her.

Arthur pushed himself away from the bars and began to pace the cell. He had too much pent up energy to sit down again.

Five minutes passed.

More time, but at this point he was in no shape to measure it—it was simply time. That was all he knew. It still wasn't completely dark outside; by now they were probably taking care of Cedric and his accomplice in the courtyard. Arthur's dungeon was on the other side of the castle. He would have no way of knowing.

And then they were coming.

He wasn't sure how he knew. He just froze, ceased wearing a rut in the floor, and tensed all over. His eyes closed. He heard them… Footsteps. He heard something dragging. He knew they were coming for him now.

They stopped by his cell.

Someone was holding keys.

He thought he heard a faint sizzling. For several men – would they send less than six to wrestle him down? – the group was eerily silent.

The keys clanged against his metal door.

He couldn't hide from it now. He swallowed, feeling sweat all over his body, but he didn't let himself shake. Taking a deep breath, Arthur opened his eyes and was greeted with an eyeful of the dank wall.

And then he turned around.


	23. Chapter 23

**WARNING: VIOLENCE. In case that isn't clear enough, Arthur whump, okay?**

* * *

><p>Balinor braced himself as the air slapped against him, putting a hand up to shield his watery eyes as the dragon landed in the clearing with a thud.<p>

"Ah, dragonlord," Kilgharrah said, looking like a cat that was pleased with itself. His golden eyes were unconcerned. "Why did you call me this evening?"

"To talk," he said. "I'm stressed."

"I told you when you became king to expect this, did I not?"

Balinor grinned. "You must bring that up every time."

"Every time, old friend. How are things in Camelot?" Kilgharrah rested his head on his gigantic paws, looking up at the king through golden eyes.

"The leader of the band that was giving us trouble has been beheaded. About half an hour ago. And my son was not there. I have not seen him for… hours. I don't know where he ran off to."

"Merlin is angry, I assume," the dragon intoned. "How rare and unexpected."

Balinor chuckled. "You could say that. He's conflicted. He'll come around… I had to arrest his servant today. He was revealed to be a spy—Arthur Pendragon. Son of Uther Pendragon."

"You discovered it. The boy is dead, then?" the dragon asked, lifting his head in interest.

Balinor glanced at him with suspicion. "You don't sound surprised."

"That is because I am not. I knew the boy's identity, Balinor. I saw him myself. I did not think he was a threat, and that is why I did not inform you, as you are about to ask. Your face is turning red." The dragon gave a scaly smile. "I have been told to remind you that which your wife says about this condition of yours."

Balinor glared at his friend. "He was a threat. No, he is not dead yet. He is being branded. He will be burned tomorrow. How did you know him?"

Kilgharrah arched his neck. "Arthur Pendragon is one of the rare destinyless souls, thanks to you, if you remember. What short memories you humans have! But I think, old friend, from what I have seen of the young man, that you may come to regret passing sentence."

"I will never regret condemning Uther's son to death!" Balinor resisted the urge to stomp his foot on the windswept grass as he squinted at the dragon.

"He may cause you to yet," Kilgharrah replied. "Were I you, I would watch your son, as well. They may have no written destiny, but the children of fate remain the same in their hearts."

Balinor licked his lips. "You know why I love talking to you? You're always so straightforward."

* * *

><p>Six. Just like he'd guessed. Arthur could laugh, except the pulsing anxiety in his stomach wouldn't let him.<p>

The light was behind them as they opened the cell door. The torches from the hall lit up their silhouettes. There was no light inside the cell: outside had finally grown dark.

There was one other light source, and he saw it out of the corner of his eye. But he wouldn't look at it directly yet—he wasn't ready.

Arthur swallowed.

_I wonder that they don't just use magic for this part. I guess most of the guards don't have that kind of magic. _

They didn't waste time. There was something to be grateful for. About four of them came forward at once; two latched onto his arms. Instinctively he began to struggle, but there was no real power behind it. He was only fighting against the inevitable—even if he could wrestle them back, he couldn't stop them. He couldn't get away.

The two in the cell not holding his arms reached for his shirt hem. _I've dressed myself since I was a toddler. _He couldn't pull back as the rough fabric started to move. It pulled away from his stomach, where it belonged, sliding up his torso, slithering away like it was leaving him… It was abandoning him to this. His shirt had been his last layer of protection.

The feeling of behind cold and bare spread up his upper body. When his shirt hem reached his arms, they were released. (He pulled away a bit, but they had his sides.) And then it slithered over his head and his shirt was gone.

Almost in slow motion, he saw his shirt casually wrapped into an untidy ball and tossed to the side of the cell.

Everything was precise, calm, and too slow. Were these men just so used to their job, or was it his brain, trying to delay punishment?

They pushed him to the wall of the cell. Dark chains were attached to the stone wall, at eye level. His back was to the wall then, as they maneuvered him however they wanted. One wrist was forced up. He pushed it down again, but it didn't budge—there were more of them than him. Soon it was pushed into the shackle, and with a clicking sound, it shut.

Arthur's breath began to speed and his stomach rocketed up into his chest cavity. He was now officially trapped.

His other arm was pushed into position and the cuff snapped shut.

And now he was immobilized. He couldn't sit if he wanted to, though the chains allowed him to stand comfortably while resting his hands just above his shoulders. He could only pull several inches, perhaps a foot, in any direction.

The four holding him hadn't said a word, and after surveying their work, sure he was stuck, they silently pulled away and left the cell. They slipped past the two that remained, and the light source Arthur couldn't look at, and closed the door behind them with a definitive _clang_.

There were just three people left in the cell. The two guards started to move forward.

Arthur finally looked at the light. It was a low glow, but warm and red. They'd brought in a hip-height three-legged metal piece, with a stone bowl snugly set into the top. It looked like something that could hold flowers or sit beside a fireplace. In the bowl there were stones; they were just there for weight, in order to make sure the poker stuffed inside didn't clatter to the ground.

The poker was black and regular, but near the end, right before it disappeared into the stones, was the light. The poker was so hot it was glowing red.

Arthur pulled on his chains, but all he received was two sore wrists. His knees were shaky, but he kept himself standing upright and his lips set firmly together despite the sweat he could feel on his skin.

One of the guards, the smaller of the two, pulled out the poker. It was red to the tip. He held it up so its meager light shone on his face; he had dark stubble on his cheeks. His lips pulled into a smile as he whispered, _"Gwres."_The poker blazed up with a new heat, sparkling in the dank dungeon, and the tip turned a light yellow.

"Better, eh?" he asked his taller, fairer companion.

Arthur's mouth went dry, but his face didn't move except to blink.

_I'm made of stone. I'm made of stone. Stone doesn't break and you can't hurt it or phase it. It doesn't move. _

The taller one stepped forward and grabbed Arthur by the hair, pulling his head back and keeping him still. Arthur had never been tender-headed, but he didn't like having his neck exposed like that. He didn't like having to look into this man's leer.

"Mundane scum," he said, looking at Arthur like he was honestly repulsed. "I guess you thought you were smart, didn't you?"

Arthur found swallowing difficult in this position. He grimaced.

"Smarter than the others. He got close," the smaller one said.

The taller one looked at his companion and then back at Arthur. "But he got caught, just like they all do. Guess his stench gave him away, eh?"

Arthur let out a huff of air. _Do they just find the meanest guards they can for this job?_

"How's it feel then?" the larger one asked, directing himself at the captive still. "Knowing you got close, close enough to smell it. Dirt like you got to stay in the castle for the few days! You should be honored."

Arthur didn't answer. There was nothing to say.

"Mute," the taller one said to the shorter, face pulled up into a grin. "But I bet he'll learn to talk soon. He'll be real loud. Cowards like this always are. Come on, we're waiting."

The smaller one's smile had faded as he stepped closer. Arthur tensed but other than that didn't make a move. He wasn't a coward. He was scared, but he wasn't a coward.

_Stone stone stone stone…_

The little one looked Arthur in the face. "Your father killed my mother," he said. His voice wasn't as brazen as his buddy's. "You know that?"

No, of course he didn't.

The man continued, "He burned her."

And then he let the tip of the poker touch Arthur's shoulder.

At first, Arthur felt cold, like ice had been put on his shoulder. But that only lasted a second, and then it burned. The man hadn't moved the poker away from Arthur, but every instinct in the ex-noble was screaming for him to get away from the fire. Arthur wrenched without meaning to, unable to stop the breathless sound that erupted from his lips as he only served to throw himself harder onto the poker and as his hair was nearly ripped from its roots.

The taller man chuckled.

It stung. It burned. There was something eating into his flesh—the man hadn't moved the heat, and Arthur's skin was breaking, burning. Arthur had never known his mother, but he wanted someone there anyway. He wished for his father. His father was steady.

The poker had touched first at the end of his collarbone, but now it moved—dragged, pressed deep into the skin. The pain moved with it, like oil sliding down his skin and leaving a trail as it went. The skin was reddening, sizzling, opening in some parts.

Arthur let out a gasp. It wasn't a real noise of pain yet. Not yet. He… he could handle this, surely? The poker was tilted so more than just the tip brushed his chest. The hair on his skin in the way fizzled and shriveled, burning more into his skin.

Arthur wanted his father, yes. He needed something more, though. He needed a female. Females were softer, they helped—good females did, didn't they? Like Gwen. Guinevere was so good. She helped. He wanted her here now, here to hold him like she did the injured and tell him it was okay, to take deep breaths. He could practically feel her dark arms curled around him soothingly.

Suddenly the poker was gone, but the agony was left behind. Arthur didn't realize his eyes had closed until he opened them. Was it over? Was that all?

And then it was back, harder this time, whipped into him and taking him by surprise. This time he cried out. _Not again! _

It was being dragged again. They'd made it halfway across his chest. He could barely breathe—his skin was throbbing.

_Guinevere,_ he thought as his stone face started to crumble. _Think of Guinevere. _She would kiss him if he asked nicely, put her pretty hands behind his head and pull his lips forward into it. He would be lost in the sweet taste from her, in the pleasant warmth that would sweep through him. She would snuggle into his chest and—

His chest.

He was pulled back into reality when they finally reached the bottom of his rib cage. As one last try to make Arthur suffer, the tip of the poker was dug sharply into his rib before being pulled out again. Arthur released a noise which almost sounded like a whimper, but it wasn't. _It wasn't. _

He now had a raw, red, blistered slash across his chest. Smarted wasn't the word. He was being heated like metal a blacksmith wanted to use. Without a doubt it would scar. That was the idea.

Then the soldier started on the opposite side. His shoulder burned first. The smaller man held it there long enough for Arthur to bite his lip and think he was going mad. Then the tip began to tilt and move.

Guinevere would nuzzle him if she was in a good enough mood, tell him that it was all okay. Tell him she loved him, that he was very brave, and she loved him enough to hold him and believe in him, so how could it not be okay?

He grunted through his teeth.

Guinevere wasn't _here_. She wasn't here. She couldn't help him. There was nothing to help him; he was alone and half naked with the people who hated him and held power over him. He couldn't even hold up his hands to defend himself. He was more defenseless than… than dirt. Mundane scum.

There was wetness in his eyes. It was welling. He couldn't stop it.

_No. _

It was tickling his eyelid even as his chest burned mercilessly.

_Please God, no. _He was actually praying.

It was no good. The tear spilled over, trickled down his face. His torturers laughed, and Arthur made another noise like a sob.

The soldiers reached the end. They finished their _X_. With one final vicious jab, the poker was withdrawn and jammed into the stones again. Arthur could breathe again. He did—took giant gasps of air. He realized that sweat was pouring into the wounds, making the stinging worse. And at what point had his legs given out? He wasn't supporting himself anymore, but his wrists were taking all his weight. He hastened to correct that.

It still burned, he thought as the larger man let go of his hair. But at least there was no more coming. He'd been scarred, marked with a condemning _X_ for the rest of his life. But there was no more coming.

"We're done," the smaller one said in a strangely subdued voice to his friend.

"Not quite," said the larger one, reaching into his pocket, and Arthur felt dizzy. Not quite?

The larger one pulled out a handful of something white, bewildering the suddenly nauseated Arthur even further. He didn't understand. They were done. Weren't they? Was there more?

The little one nodded.

The tall man looked at Arthur. "This stuff is expensive, you know," he said. "Non-magical scum like you; you're not even worth it. So be honored." He slapped his hand to Arthur's chest and smeared the white dust across his new burns.

Arthur seized up suddenly, eyes going white. For the first time, he screamed, his vocal chords working against him as he nearly strangled himself trying to keep it in. His head went back and hit the wall gently.

It was salt.

Everything went fuzzy for the revealed rebel.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Because of a bit of plot confusion, it may be a bit (a few weeks at most I think; a few days at least) before I update. I'm trying to work out two opposite ways I want to go with this. But no fear, they both lead to the same outcome.** **I'd be able to work it out in less time, but I don't have any more prewritten, and I'm afraid I've hit a bit of laziness: I don't really feel like writing right now. I'll try to get myself into gear as soon as I can. **


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: SO. Bad quality season 5 trailer exists, and bloopers now exist (from which I have derived what I already suspected—that Bradley James and Eoin Macken couldn't stay vertical if they were tied to a wall). You may all commence spasming in hopeless fangirl fashion. That's what I've been doing for a good few days. **

**Note: If horses run 45 mph on average, and Gwaine and Elyan were pushing, but not trying to kill their horses, this camp could be about 270 miles away. That's about 434 kilometers, I think. If that's too close to Camelot, well, sorry. **

**I want to try and finish this story before season 5 airs. So, wish me luck. Who thinks I can do it?**

* * *

><p>It was pitch dark in the camp when Gwaine and Elyan came riding in like they were escaping from driven demons of hell. A third horse was being led by them, with a covered body draped over its saddle.<p>

Uther Pendragon was not sleeping, and when he heard the beating of approaching hooves, he had come out of his home, ready to fight, flee, or welcome. He was standing under the door in the darkness when the riders came in, but he didn't have to wait tersely for long before he recognized them. He didn't know if it was the dark shapes of the riders of the horses, but he came forward to ask Gwaine and Elyan about their unusually speedy return.

And then he saw the other horse, the other figure, and something froze like winter had descended without warning.

Uther staggered to a stop as he stared at the figure, staring blankly. Was that…? Could that be?

He looked to Gwaine and Elyan, seeing the seriousness painted on their young faces by the light of the moon. "Is that…?" he asked quietly, suddenly vulnerable.

Gwaine did not stop to appreciate that he was seeing a face that few on earth ever got to view.

"That," Gwaine said, panting, "is Prince Merlin of Camelot, powerful sorcerer and son of Balinor."

Uther stared. "Why?"

"We figured you'd need the hostage," Elyan said without any trace of a smile. "There are seven hours until dawn. And at that point they're going to execute your son."

* * *

><p>Gwen pushed her hair out of her face as she leant over the leg of her patient. She stifled a yawn.<p>

Everyone else was sleeping. As a matter of fact, she had been sleeping before she'd been shaken awake by someone saying they'd been bitten and needed help. So she'd crawled out of her bag and wrapped a blanket around herself. She hadn't taken the time to get any more decent than that before she was off to the medical tent to help the man.

"There," she said as she put the bandage on, squinting in the low light. No candles were allowed after dark in most tents. But the medical tent was thick enough that it didn't matter, and was to be allowed in emergencies. She'd nearly had to fight Uther on that one, and it had left her knees shaking. "Now," she said, looking up through her lashes and smiling at the young man who stood staring mournfully at her. "Avoid going out barefoot when its dark and you should be fine, huh?"

He gave her a sheepish grin. "Understood, doctor," he said, and she laughed.

Then she stopped.

"Horses," she said. "Someone just rode in."

The man clutched his knife, his only weapon. He got down off the table and reached out, as though to take her arm and pull her back. "At this time of night?"

She shook him off and went to the flap, blowing out her candle as she peered into the darkness past the fabric.

"Three horses," she said. "Two people. Uther is talking to them." She squinted, and recognized her brother and Gwaine as she clutched the blanket about herself. And was that… oh. Oh, no, that was a body, wasn't it?

She bit her lip.

It wasn't… It wasn't _Arthur's _body?

She couldn't help herself… She crept from the tent and walked towards the commotion. Uther was snapping something at Gwaine.

Gwaine nodded and moved to the side, pulling the covering off the body. Gwen saw a glimpse of dark hair, and then Gwaine was slinging the body over his shoulder. He straightened and started for Gwen.

"Gwaine," she called. "What? Who…?"

His face was drawn and deadly seriously. "The prince," he said. "Gwen, this is serious. I need to get the magic-restraining chains we have. You know where they are?"

"Yeah," she said.

"We're going to turn my tent into a prison cell," Gwaine said. "I'm not going to be sleeping anyway. Go get them."

"But…"

"Gwen, do it!" Gwaine did not yell. He did not scold. He shouted boisterously, and he laughed too loud. But Gwaine did not yell. And so, now that he just had, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

Behind her, she heard Uther snarl, "Go wake up Leon, and tell him to bring me paper. If he is not here in two minutes, I will have someone's _head_."

Her eyes flew wide. Something was wrong. Something was _so_ wrong.

"I'll get them," she whispered obediently to Gwaine, and ran to the supplies as he continued to lug the black-haired, unconscious "prince" towards his tent.

Uther disappeared into his home, and approximately two minutes later Leon came rushing through the camp, something clenched in his hand. A sword was at his side and a bow was in his other hand, but he wore no armor. Two minutes wasn't enough time. If there was panic on the long-haired man's face, no one ever saw it, because there was no one around to watch by this point. Leon followed the ex-king.

Another few minutes passed by without movement in the camp near Uther's hut. If anyone had been watching, all they would have seen would have been Gwen stumbling through the night, lugging something from the supplies.

Then Elyan came back from where he'd been and began to saddle up a horse from among the free ones.

At last Leon burst from Uther's as though the wind was slowing him down. He ran towards the horses—not the ones Gwaine and Elyan had brought back, though those had yet to be cared for. Someone else would take care of them; Uther would see to it. There were bigger issues right now.

Leon leapt onto the back of the one Elyan had prepared, nodded to Elyan briefly, and rode out as hellishly as the two men had ridden in ten minutes ago.

* * *

><p>Gwen would have been able to find Gwaine's tent in her sleep.<p>

As for Gwaine, he recognized her steps even with his back turned to her. He was leaning over, watching the prince carefully for any sign of awareness by the light of his illegal candle. The blanket had been tossed away to the corner of his tent, on top of Gwaine's bedroll. When the flap behind him moved and he heard her come in, he didn't even look around.

Lifting his hand, he said, "Hand me the chains, Gwen."

She did so, grunting a bit. "They're heavy," she said "You'll want to use both hands."

Gwaine didn't bother replying. "He's still asleep," he said as he adjusted Merlin's position, sitting him against the cloth wall and holding up the chain.

"Or he's pretending?" Gwen said.

"He'd probably have already destroyed us all of that was the case," Gwaine said. "In any case, we'll know when I've finished this."

Gwen shuddered. She'd heard enough stories of magic brutality; heck, she'd lived through some of it. Looking over the thin captive's face, he didn't look the type to plot and murder. But he was the son of Balinor, wasn't he? His looks were probably deceptive. Sure, he looked like a hurt, white-as-a-ghost young man being chained up, but that didn't mean much. Even _Gwaine_ looked innocent while he was sleeping.

She held her breath as Gwaine closed the chains at last, having managed to maneuver it around the sorcerer completely. As they shut, they sparkled a lively gold. The only enchanted object Gwen knew that Uther kept in his possession was this chain.

"There," Gwaine said, stepping back with a sigh of satisfaction as he nudged the sleeping man with his toe. Merlin did not stir. "He can't get out of that, even with his magic. He's still asleep, and we only had to knock him out again once." He smiled grimly and turned to face Gwen. Then he started back when he saw her standing there with bandages in her hand, her medical pack around her arm.

"What…?" he asked, gesturing.

She looked at her hand. "Well?" she said. "Do you want me to do it?"

He flipped his hair and looked bewildered. "I'm not injured."

"No, don't be silly. He is." She pointed, and Gwaine looked back, noticing for the first time that a thin line of blood was trickling down Merlin's forehead and onto his cheek from his hairline.

"Oh," Gwaine said blankly.

"Must have happened when you hit him," Gwen said blithely. "Well?" Gwaine didn't move to take the supplies from her. "Very well," she said, and handed him the bandages.

"Here," she said, moving forward and kneeling by Merlin. "You help me with the bandages then." She held out her hand again, waiting for him to take the bandages.

Gwaine didn't move, just stared at Merlin's prone form.

"Gwaine?" she asked in surprise. "Gwaine?"

"I... No, Gwen."

She stared at him expectantly. "Are you frightened of the _blood_, Gwaine?"

_Yes, _Gwaine thought. _Yes, but not his blood. _

"Gwen," Gwaine said, ripping his eyes from Merlin. "They're going to execute Arthur at dawn. _He's_ here so that we can stop it. But if Leon doesn't get there in time, Gwen, he'll die."

Gwen blinked. She blinked for a really long time, but other than that, her face did not change. It hurt her, but she'd suspected as much. Of course she had. Gwen was a smart woman.

There was a second of silence, in which Gwaine had time to appreciate that he'd never seen Gwen so still and expressionless, and she realized that she'd never seen him so serious.

Gwen put the bandages in her lap. At last she said, "You don't have to help me."

Gwaine looked at Merlin again. "I can't," he said apologetically. "Not until I _know_."

He spun, pushed the flap out of his way, and disappeared into the night. Gwen watched until he was gone, and then, with a single trembling hand, she reached into her medical bag.

* * *

><p>Lancelot did not sleep well that night, just as he had not the night before. He was exhausted, dead on his feet. But he'd made the mistake of going down to the dungeons early in the night.<p>

He hadn't gone in. He'd just stood at the steps.

And he'd heard one, muted scream.

So then he had walked away, breathing fast, and gone to find Merlin. But Merlin was not to be found in his room… Though the Lady Morgana was there, sitting at his table with her head in her hands.

When he opened the door, she looked up hopefully. And then she sighed. "He's not here," she told him. "He rode out into the woods. I'm waiting for him too."

"Oh," Lancelot said. "Is he okay?"

"Fine," Morgana said, waving her hand and turning her face away from Lancelot. It was too late. He'd seen the redness of her face.

"I'll find him later." Lancelot had left and tried to sleep, and it had come in spurts and short breaks. The night was one of the longest of his life, dragging on minute by minute.

And finally, when he awoke again, it was an hour before dawn. Looking out the window, he saw the pyre standing in the courtyard.

Licking his lips, Lancelot donned his chainmail and the deep blue cloak the knights of Camelot wore. Then he went to Merlin's room, quietly and uneasily opening the door.

Had the prince slept last night? Or had he been just as restless as Lancelot?

Lancelot opened the door, trying not to disturb the occupant.

Merlin's bed was made. It had not been slept in, and he most certainly wasn't in it. A quick glance about the room assured Lancelot that Merlin wasn't in here at all—but Morgana was. She had fallen asleep as he had left her, her head down on the table. She hadn't moved, and she still wore the same clothes.

So Merlin had not come in.

He had ridden out into the woods, Morgana had said. Without knowing why, Lancelot felt worry bubble up in his stomach. Where he came from, not coming home at night was a bad thing. Especially when the day before had been so tense. And when the missing person had as much difficulty staying out of trouble as Merlin did.

Lancelot was nearly at the stables before he realized where he was going. He didn't know exactly where Merlin had ridden, but chances were he had just gone straight out the gates.

So Lancelot went there too.

He rode fast through the trees, eyes wide open. The first clearing he found, he stopped and dismounted. Looking around at the greenery, he adjusted his cape and narrowed his eyes. It was still dark, not yet dawn. He didn't see a sign of Merlin.

So he opened his mouth and called, regardless of any dangers that might be nearby. "Merlin!"

_Thwat!_

Lancelot started as the arrow whizzed through the air and landed solidly in the wood of the tree next to him. The knight ducked at once, but no more arrows followed.

He'd been a clear target, not even moving. _Bad marksman? _Lancelot wondered as he looked up at the arrow.

And then he saw it. The arrow embedded in the tree had pierced a piece of parchment covered in writing, and was holding the fluttering paper to the trunk.


	25. Chapter 25

The first thing that Merlin was aware of was the blinding headache he had. Suddenly finding himself able to move his muscles again as consciousness came flooding back into his brain, he gritted his deep and sucked in a breath.

The second thing Merlin was aware of was that the rest of him wasn't all that comfortable either. There was something hard exerting pressure over various points of his body, and he felt contained like he hadn't in a long time. Perhaps ever.

Merlin pushed himself further into consciousness, trying to understand what was going on. He winced—someone was touching his injured head.

His eyes cracked open in the darkness, rolling about wildly as he tried to calibrate his senses, to place his location. But he couldn't. There was darkness, cloth, a candle to the side, and someone kneeling beside him.

That someone was touching his head with something, and it stung.

He tried to reach up and grab the wrist of the offending person, but found that his arm couldn't move. _That_ woke him up. Merlin's world came into focus all at once, and he looked over at the curly haired woman who seemed to be patting his head with her fingers.

His eyebrows drew together. "That hurts," he said. "What are you doing?"

She started, since she hadn't realized he was awake. But then she sighed and looked back at him. "You're awake," she said.

He started to lift his head. "Yes."

"Keep your head back," she ordered. "You have a cut on your head, and I'm taking care of it."

He gave her a confused look. She was not one of Gaius's assistants, he knew that for sure. "How did I get it?" he asked.

She flashed a quick smile as she folded over the wet towel in her hand and dabbed at his head some more. "Gwaine gave it to you, I think," she said timidly. "It's not deep, but there's a bruise around it. I hope you aren't concussed."

Gwaine? Gwaine? Merlin remembered being in the woods, and seeing the man who wanted to attack him. Was that Gwaine?

She held up a hand. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"How did I get here?"

She picked up the candle. "Does this hurt your eyes? Can you see normally?"

"Where am I?"

"Is there a ringing in your ears? Do you feel sick? Are you dizzy?"

"Who are you?"

She gave him a look like the ones he thought only his mother had perfected, and he sighed. She was trying to heal him, after all. Gaius's reaction would probably be the same. "Four fingers, it doesn't hurt, I can see normally, and I feel normal except for a sore head."

She nodded and decided to repay favor for favor. "Gwaine brought you here; you're in his tent, in Uther's camp. I'm the… physician of sorts."

Merlin stiffened. He hadn't heard anything past_ Uther's camp_, due to the alarm immediately blaring in his mind. With a spurt of energy, his eyes blazed gold. He would break through these chains, he decided at once. He would push out of the tent and be out of here before anyone had time to react. And he would remember where he was, so that he could lead his father back here…

At this point in his plotting, he noticed that the chains hadn't broken. Nothing had happened, in fact, except that the pretty woman had stopped prodding his head and reached into a bag at her side. She was watching him closely, though.

Merlin's eyes roved the space in confusion, and he tried again. Straining, he let another blast of magic issue out from somewhere in the vicinity of his chest.

The woman paused and watched him, her face curiously blank.

Merlin's eyebrows furrowed. "_Rhyddhau_," he whispered.

There was nothing. Glaring at the woman with an accusation in his eyes, he asked, "These chains are enchanted, aren't they?"

"I think so," she said.

Merlin nodded and sighed, leaning backwards against the cloth behind him. He could feel the sweat pricking his skin as he forced himself to breathe normally and not show external signs of panic.

"Careful," she said. "The tent isn't all that stable. I wouldn't put too much pressure on the wall."

His eyes narrowed in her direction as he found himself increasingly irritated at this girl. He was in the midst of a very frightening moment, and she didn't really seem to appreciate it. She wasn't smirking or acting vengeful, but nor was she comforting him. She just seemed interesting in his bleeding head (which, admittedly, did hurt).

And yet, somehow, he found himself calming down. Just like when Gaius went about being businesslike despite the fact that no one was sure if Percival was even going to survive the night. Perhaps it was something about physicians. (She had said she was one, hadn't she? Did she have training? Even though she was a woman?) They didn't go into hysterics so that no one else would either.

He licked his lips. "Okay, I'm stuck," he admitted. She nodded, and pulled something out of her bag. It was a little clay jar.

She popped the top off and ran her finger carefully through the goop it contained. "This will sting a bit," she said. "But it will help avoid infection. Be glad I didn't need to do stitches."

"What day is it?" Merlin asked. "How long have I been here?" _Is Arthur dead?_ he wondered at once, his stomach dropping. _Is that why I'm here? Are they going to kill me? Is my father looking for me?_

She shrugged. "About fifteen minutes. I think it's the same day you were... you know, captured. If that's what you're wondering." She smeared the goop over him, and he shuddered as it stung.

Well, he'd only missed a few hours. Maybe he could still get out of this and back home before all hell broke loose. _Morgana's never going to believe this isn't an elaborate trick to get out of making up my mind,_ he thought, and then shook it out of his head. But how would he get out? He couldn't do it by himself. Could he convince this woman to let him go?

Why would she do that?

Merlin shifted uncomfortably. "These hurt," he said.

"I'm sorry," she said, and she sounded it. "Are they too tight?" She looked at his arms, and he tensed, but she just shook her head and scooted away. "You aren't losing circulation," she said. "Try not to put any weight on the chains, okay?"

She put the jar back and pulled out another, clearer one. "This will help with the swelling and the bruises," she told him, opening it. "It's just a bunch of herbs. Doesn't it smell good?" She held it under his nose, and he instinctively turned away.

She rubbed some on her fingers and put it gently on Merlin's matted hair. It felt warm. She had calloused but nice fingers, Merlin thought, shuddering again as the new gel-like substance was massaged gently into his scalp.

Lowering his voice, Merlin asked her, "What's your name?"

Her eyebrows drew together at the change of tone. "Gwen," she said.

"Gwen," he repeated, putting his head back. "That's a pretty name," he said. "What's it short for?"

She smiled sadly. "Guinevere," she told him.

"That's even prettier," he told her. "Guinevere, you are intelligent, aren't you? I'm going to be honest with you. If you help me escape, I'll make sure you don't get hurt. I'll protect you when the Mundanes are attacked. I will use all my power…"

"I have a brother," she said, interrupting him, watching his face.

"Him too," Merlin said after a moment of hesitation. He just needed to get out of here. She was thinking about it. He could tell she was… Her cheeks were sucked in, and her fingers were playing with the bandage in her hand.

Then she looked at Merlin and there was something bright in her eyes. "They're going to kill Arthur in the morning?" she asked.

Merlin sagged. It was no good, he realized. Closing his eyes, he said, "Yes."

Her hands were trembling when they touched his head, lifting it and wrapping the bandage around it. "Why?" she asked quietly. "What are the charges?"

"He is a spy and the son of Uther Pendragon," Merlin answered, proud of himself because his voice was perfectly smooth. He didn't falter even once.

She choked when she asked the next one word question, and her voice dropped until it was nearly inaudible. "How?" she asked.

Merlin ran his tongue along the bottom of his teeth. It was silent in the tent. "Burn him," he answered curtly, doing his best not to mumble. He didn't want to have to repeat himself. He opened his eyes and looked at Guinevere.

Her eyes were wet and her lip was trembling, but she just finished off tying the bandage around his head. "Did they brand him?" he asked, her voice thick.

Suddenly Merlin really didn't want to answer her. He remembered once when a knight had been killed by a monster. Balinor had put him in charge of telling the widow, and Merlin had dragged Lancelot along. "They were supposed to," he said through his teeth.

She blinked, and one of her tears escaped, sliding down her face before she pushed it away and took one breath reminiscent of a desperate gasp. Then she nodded slowly, and went back to the job at hand. She checked the band around his head started putting things back into the bag.

"Did Uther send you to make sure I wasn't injured?" Merlin asked. He felt like a cad changing the subject, but then he reminded himself that he didn't care.

"No," she said, steadily, to his surprise. He felt a sort of grudging admiration, but he kept it to himself. "I just saw that you were, and so I healed you. That's what I do. We don't…" But then she decided not to say whatever it was she was going to, and became silent.

Merlin felt the urge to question her as to what she had been about to utter. But he restrained himself. He had other questions.

"Are they going to kill me?" he asked.

She thought that one through. "I don't know," she admitted. "We just want to save Arthur. All we want is to save him. If we don't get there in time…" She shook herself.

"Maybe they will, Guinevere." If he had a free hand, he would have slapped himself for absolute idiocy. He _didn't _want them too save their leader's son, after all. Because they were his enemies. Because they refused to practice the Old Religion. Why was he trying to comfort her anyway? Maybe because she was a woman and he feared that she was going to cry, or perhaps because in some small way she reminded him of his mother—sans the flashy dresses and bad makeup. Guinevere was actually wearing a normal peasant dress.

He was thinking too much about her, he thought. He should focus on escaping. How he could escape. He couldn't get out. She wasn't going to help him. It seemed to be convenient, this kidnapping; he didn't have to disappoint Morgana, and if Arthur was returned, he might be released without ever having to do anything.

But it was too easy. It wouldn't work, he knew that; his life never did work out that way. And it wasn't that he had trouble with Mundanes any more than he had trouble with, say, any kind of animal that couldn't help being born. His mother was a Mundane. It was only the animals that bit you had to watch out for.

And Uther was a biter.

What were the chances he would let Merlin go, regardless of how events unfolded? No, Merlin needed to get out by himself.

Gwen gave him a brief smile, interrupting his thoughts. "That would be best for everyone," she agreed. "But no one calls me Guinevere." Her smile faded. "Only Arthur calls me Guinevere."

There was a second of silence as Merlin took that in. He looked her up and down. Curly hair. Dark eyes. Always doctoring. Arthur had said he didn't know what happened to her, but that was probably a lie.

"Arthur mentioned you," he said before he thought about it.

She went pale at once, and Merlin knew that all sorts of horrible thoughts and scenarios had just flashed through her head.

"Not in a bad way," he clarified at once. "He just… mentioned you. Not by name or anything." Merlin tried to wiggle. His chains were making it difficult. He wondered if she would let him go if he told her how Arthur had promised that _he_ wouldn't hurt Merlin…? Probably not while Arthur was in danger. He shook his head and went on, "He liked you. I could tell."

She smiled again, looking recovered. "I know," she answered, and there was some sort of a joke in the wry way she said it.

_The dragon,_ Merlin thought suddenly, and sucked in his cheeks, thinking about it. Would that work? Could Kilgharrah rescue him? He'd probably be willing to, even without the orders of a dragonlord… But would he be able to hear Merlin? There was no guarantee. As the son of a dragonlord, Merlin had some sort of connection with the dragon, but it was tenuous and largely unexplored. The dragon had too much focus on Balinor at any given time. But he'd done it before, contacted the dragon. Even from a distance.

Could he do it?

Gwen stood up, picking up her pack and headed for the tent flap. Merlin's eyes followed her. She paused before she left and commented, "I didn't tell him goodbye when he went out," she commented. "I was busy. I wish I had."

"Hellos are always better than goodbyes anyway," Merlin told her.

She gave a short, unamused laugh. "I hope we get some more of those." She reached for the tent flap.

"Yeah," he said aloud, stopping Gwen, his smile suddenly becoming sarcastic. "I'm hoping for a few more myself."She gave him one last half-smile, and then she disappeared.

_Maybe,_ Merlin decided. He might be able to call the dragon.

It was worth a try, anyway.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Another chapter down. You'll get to see how Balinor reacts to Lancelot's note next chapter. I admit… I don't even really know how he's going to react. How was this chapter? I didn't mean to dedicate the whole thing to Merlin and Gwen and poor Merlin's confusing viewpoint on Mundanes, but they sort of ran away with me. **

**And yes, technically this scene occurred before Lancelot got the note, so it is a bit out of order there, but that's sort of the way it happened. **


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: I'm going to admit that I'm using what I have of common sense and vagueness to describe Arthur's burn. Because I'm not a doctor, I'm terrified to Google such a thing as "untreated branded burn after 12 hours", and asking questions like that of your friends because you need to know for the character you've maimed in a fanfic makes you feel bad about your life.**

* * *

><p>Dawn was just thinking about being born when Lancelot went crashing into Camelot, a note folded into his sweating palm. His horse was practically abandoned in the stables, for the moment he got there, he threw himself off its back and rushed to the castle.<p>

In the courtyard, a pyre was standing prepared and erect.

Lancelot's stomach twisted, but he just picked up the pace, pushing away the guard who was taking up the door space as he rushed into the castle. He paid no attention to the people he was passing, though he did spot Nimueh watching him run out of the corner of his eye.

He wasn't as unnerved by her as usual, though, because he was Merlin's protector, and Merlin's life was in danger. He had bigger things to worry about.

The doors of the courtroom were closed, but he frantically signaled for a guard nearby to help him open it. The man came to his side swiftly, and the doors were opened wide in a few moments. Lancelot took a deep breath, still sweating, as he charged into the room.

It was mostly empty.

The king was up early today, since there was an execution to oversee, and Hunith too had risen. They sat at the table, across from each other. Several guards stood watch, blending into the scene as guards tended to do.

Balinor looked up, and then stood, his forehead creased. "Sir Lancelot. What is the meaning of this? Is there an emergency?"

"Yes, Sire," Lancelot answered tightly, for once not feeling his customary uneasiness at talking to those above him in rank. He tossed the folded, slightly ripped parchment to the table before the king. "That was delivered to me," Lancelot announced.

Hunith reached for it, but Balinor got there first, scooping it up and nearly tearing it as he forcefully opened it.

"What is it?" Hunith asked her husband. She had come to see him before her maids got a hold of her and put more garish makeup on; she looked much more pleasant than Lancelot had seen her in a while.

Balinor read it quickly and his face changed to a purple most fitting of his royal standing. And then it went completely pale. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

Hearing a noise behind him, Lancelot spotted Nimueh come sweeping in, much queenlier than the kind queen and obnoxiously aware of herself as always—at least, that was what Merlin said about her. Lancelot didn't feel it was quite his place to judge. Lancelot turned away from her as Balinor, still speechless, threw down the paper like a gauntlet before his wife's outreached hands.

Hunith read it quickly, her breathing uneven. Then she put it down with tears in her eyes. "They've got Merlin…" she whispered.

"If I may?" Nimueh asked as she approached, but didn't wait for Hunith to agree before she held out a hand and the parchment zipped into her hand with a buzz of magic.

"We need to get him back," Balinor said as the priestess read the note.

"First, we need to call of the execution," Hunith said.

Nimueh looked up with her eyes flashing. "No!" she snapped, going red. "No, we cannot call it off! The son of Uther Pendragon cannot go free after the crimes he has committed." She was practically hissing. "That is the sort of tenderhearted thing Merlin would sugg—"

"Nimueh, calm yourself," Balinor snapped. "He will not go unpunished."

"Balinor!" Hunith cried. "Our _son_…"

"But," the king continued, thinking hard, "we will not sacrifice Merlin to see justice performed immediately… The execution will be postponed until we have solved this problem. You!" He pointed to a guard, who stepped forward. "Bring me Sir Percival. I'll have him give the word that the execution is postponed."

"Sire, I can…" Lancelot started.

"You found the note. You remain here. We will need to track down Uther's camp if we wish to take the prince back. Could you recognize the person who delivered this" – here he waved at the note – "if you were to see him?"

Lancelot shook his head. "It arrived on an arrow that was shot while I was in the woods looking for Prince Merlin."

Balinor lifted his eyebrows. "Why were you looking for Merlin?"

Lancelot cocked his head to the side, feeling like a boy trying to explain things in a way both honest and non-confrontational to his irritable mother. "I happened to be looking for him early this morning. I figured today he would rise early… Honestly, I worried that he might have had trouble sleeping. But his bed hadn't been slept in, and no one could have made it this morning. I was told he had gone for a ride last night, and so I went out looking for him when the arrow nearly took my head off."

Balinor nodded and looked at the note again, picking it up and rereading it. "Did you read it?" he asked.

"Yes, Sire," Lancelot said. "I didn't know what it was."

Balinor nodded, accepting that answer. Just then Sir Percival came into the room, bowing deeply—which, Lancelot realized belatedly, he hadn't done. He hadn't been thinking of it.

"Sire, I was sent for?" Percival asked, shooting Lancelot a curious look.

"Yes. Arthur Pendragon's execution is to be postponed. No explanation is needed at the moment, just have it enforced."

"Yes, Sire," Percival said, nonplussed, and bowed again as he left the room as quickly as he could, still looking at Lancelot from the corner of his eye. Lancelot made a movement of acknowledgement, a silent promise to catch him up later. Now there was no time.

With that taken care of, Balinor moved on to the next order of business. "We need to find them."

"The note," Hunith said, "says that they will release our son if we release Uther's."

Nimueh stiffened, but to her relief Balinor shook his head. "Unacceptable. We must track them."

"Before they decide to take action, and while they hold our son?" Hunith asked. "There isn't time. Haven't you told me time and time again that you need some sort of focus to track the camp by magic?"

"Could Pendragon be the focus?" Lancelot asked.

"He's been living in Camelot," Balinor said. "He's not of the camp and he doesn't 'belong' to any rebel. But perhaps the dragon could…"

"They'll be hidden," Nimueh snapped. "Kilgharrah did not see them before and he will not now, not unless the destination was pinpointed or at least narrowed down. There are too many trees and we cannot burn down the forest."

Balinor cursed and sank into his chair, staring at the broken window in the wall. "Pendragon," he finally said. "Arthur Pendragon should know where they are."

"He won't tell you, though," Lancelot said. "Not when this note could be the salvation of him."

"We'll see about that," Balinor said, his face tight. "Bring him here."

* * *

><p>Arthur thought it was dawn, and nobody was here to take him away.<p>

That was strange, because he had thought that they were going to kill him at dawn. It was possible, he figured, that he was mistaken. He wasn't really thinking straight anyway. He hadn't been all night. He knew it, but he couldn't fix it, and he found it hard to care.

For example, at one point during the night, he'd thought he was talking to his father. He didn't know if it was a dream or a hallucination, but he knew that his father was not in this cell with him—he'd lifted his head to check.

If they were going to come and kill him, he wished they would hurry up. His chest hurt, and he thought he might have a bit of a fever setting in, judging by how cold he was and the sweat tickling his skin and burning his chest. He was also horribly uncomfortable, having spent the night on the stone floor the way he'd fallen—he didn't have the strength, mental or physical, to move himself too often. And if burning to death was more uncomfortable, it was also shorter.

Besides, maybe he'd choke to death first.

He flashed his teeth at the wall in what might have been a smile during better days without opening his eyes, finding a sort of morbid humor in that.

What he really wanted to do right now was sleep. But that was difficult, due to the fact that he was uncomfortable, and that discomfort was all he could really think of right now.

That and the footsteps he suddenly heard approaching.

He didn't open his eyes yet. _Just a few more seconds_...

It was probably the guards, who he'd been wishing for, but now that they were here, he wanted them to go away and let him be. Unless it wasn't the guards… But who else could it be?

Morgana? Merlin?

Arthur's eyes flew open. If he didn't want the guards, he _really _didn't want them to be here. With herculean effort, he managed to push himself up onto his arms and turn so he was on his other side and halfway sitting up. Now he could see the cell door… and yes, it was the guards.

They opened the door without ceremony and came inside, taking Arthur by his arms and helping (well, forcing) him to his feet. Arthur shook his head, trying to wake himself up more fully. Perhaps there would be a chance to escape and he would miss it like this.

Were they going to drag him out like this, or did he at least get a chance to put his shirt back on? It was still lying on the floor of the dungeon, and he had considered wrestling it back on, but decided it would hurt too badly to bother.

Oh, okay, they were just going to take him out like this. Did people often get burned without their shirts on?

Arthur shook his head again, his hair flopping about.

There was no chance to escape, Arthur realized, because he watched for it. They didn't take their hands off of him, and even if he got away and ran, how many of them could kill him with magic before he got twenty feet?

They led him down the stone hallways, tapestries and alcoves that Arthur had begun to become accustomed to passing by. It didn't take Arthur long to realize that he wasn't headed towards the courtyard at all, and only a few more minutes to guess that they were going to the court room.

Why were they going to the court room? He'd already been sentenced…

A last minute change in plans rarely bodes well, Arthur thought, tensing. He didn't like surprises.

The doors were opened when they arrived and the guards dragged Arthur inside, depositing him on his knees before the king, who sat on his throne next to his wife. Arthur glanced at her. She looked like she was frantic, her hands twisting in her lap. Arthur glanced around the room as surreptitiously as he could under the circumstances.

He saw the men who'd brought him in. Balinor and Hunith. No surprises. In the corner, Nimueh, whom he'd never met face-to-face but disliked on hearsay (mostly Merlin's), stood tall and a little scary. She was glaring at him. Arthur saw Lancelot on the other side of the room. He looked like he hadn't slept well, but Arthur was hardly in the mood to sympathize with him. He found it a little strange that he was here at all.

There was no Morgana. Good.

But he didn't see Merlin, and that struck him as strange. The rest of the royal family was here. What, was he still sleeping? Actually, Arthur hadn't seen Merlin since yesterday, when he had been sentenced. Merlin had been shifting uncomfortably, biting his tongue, not meeting Arthur's eyes. Perhaps it was too personal for him… But Arthur would have thought that Balinor would demand Merlin be here and put on a brave face. After all, that's what Arthur's own father would do.

Eventually Arthur looked back towards Balinor, who was eyeing him with disgust. Arthur wished he had his shirt back for the millionth time, even if the fabric would aggravate his burn.

Balinor stood up, and Arthur broke the short eye contact. He looked at the throne instead.

"Where is Uther's camp?" Balinor asked Arthur.

Arthur closed his eyes and then moved his gaze to the floor, cursing in his mind. Why hadn't Balinor done this last night? Light was peering into the room through the windows now. Arthur should be dying now, not being interrogated! Why now?

Arthur dragged his eyes heavily up to Balinor's face. "I don't know," he said.

Since he was watching the king, he saw it coming and had time to clench his teeth before Balinor's hand slammed into his face, nearly knocking him sideways. Arthur let his head move with the blow, his face turned to the floor as he caught his breath.

"Balinor!"

Was that the queen? Why was she scolding Balinor? What was even going on?

"Sit down, Hunith, I am handling this."

"Balinor, the note said he wasn't to be hurt anymore or…"

"Sit _down_!"

Silence. Arthur lifted his head, blinking heavily, and looked back at the king again, who turned to face him. His wife's face was burning, and were those _tears_ in her eyes?

"Now…" Balinor said again to Arthur, but before he got any further Arthur interrupted.

"I don't know," he said again, eyes on Balinor's hand warily this time. "They would have moved it in the time since I left. I'm not lying."

Actually, he was lying, of course. Unless they somehow heard about his imprisonment, and then hopefully they would pack up and move. Hopefully Leon would be able to keep Uther's mind from revenge long enough to get that done…

Balinor studied him carefully, and then looked at Nimueh.

"He's lying, Sire," she said. "His heart rate went up. His pupils dilated. Among other hints." Arthur turned to glance at her. She was so far away, how could she tell…? Oh, right. Magic.

"There has to be something to make him tell the truth, Nimueh," Balinor growled. "You have more magic than I do."

"Indeed," she agreed with a smirk. "I can make such a thing. If you have a month to spare."

Balinor shook his head.

Nimueh put her head back and smiled. "But, Sire, I do know some spells that would convince him to tell us."

Arthur swallowed and tried to suppress his shudder, but his cold and tired muscles seized up regardless of his attempt. He looked at Balinor, dread so thick in his throat that he wanted to vomit it up.

Balinor was already half-convinced.

"No, Balinor," Hunith ordered her husband. "The note said we cannot hurt him further. If we do, and they find out, they have _Merlin_ and they will…"

"Woman, be silent!" Balinor shouted, but it was too late. Arthur had heard exactly what Balinor was desperate for him not to, and the rebel's head jerked.

"They have M… the prince?" Arthur asked blankly, before he put it together and his eyes went wide. They had Merlin? How? _How? _Was that a good or a bad thing for Arthur?

Hunith had her hand over her mouth, and she was red. "I'm sorry, Balinor," she muttered. "But you _can't._"

"And you would suggest we just go along with them?" Balinor guessed. "Just take their word for it, that it will be a simple exchange?"

Hunith didn't answer, but Arthur could read her face. Yes, that was what she would suggest. Anything to get her son back.

"Balinor," Nimueh said. "How do we even know that they really have Merlin? It could a trick. All we have is a note delivered by some unknown force."

"And what would you suggest?" Balinor asked her.

"I suggest you discover the truth from _him_," she said, pointing at Arthur, "and then take an army and go see for yourself.

Arthur looked at her. She didn't care if they got Merlin back, he realized. She just wanted to hurt the rebels as much as she could. Did she just not care about the prince's life, or was she so sure that he would not be injured?

"And if they do have my son?" Balinor asked. "He would be dead when we arrived."

"Besides, Sire," Lancelot suddenly inserted. "I mean no offense, but if Prince Merlin isn't captured, then where is he?" Lancelot, like Hunith, just wanted Merlin back.

Arthur blinked heavily, wondering what he, Arthur, wanted. Was he happy or unhappy that this had occurred? He didn't want Merlin to be hurt, but he didn't want himself to be killed. He would like the chance to go home. But even if he did escape with his life, an event like this would bring the fury of Camelot down on his people, and that made his heart beat like a frenzied hammer. It was like an act of war when they were not prepared. And even if Balinor was to die or unexpectedly abdicate to Merlin, what were the chances that the prince would forget that he had been kidnapped and leave the Mundanes in peace? Arthur finally reserved judgment—it wasn't like he could do much presently anyway.

Balinor put up his hand for silence, and furrowed his brow, thinking. He looked around the room, and his gaze centered on Arthur.

He took two steps forward and took Arthur's hair roughly in his fist, pulling the blond's head up. "If you don't tell me," he threatened, "you will regret it."

Arthur blinked.

He swallowed.

And then he opened his mouth and said, "I believe you."

Balinor dropped his head and glared at the rebel, who just drew his knees forward so he could put his weight on his lower legs and closed his mouth more firmly.

The king turned away. "Someone take him back the dungeon." The guards who brought Arthur in drew closer, and one came in from the door, which was still open. "I will have Kilgharrah fly above the forest and keep a look out, as well as being a warning to anyone watching. Sir Lancelot, ready the man to be prepared to attack or defend at a moment's notice. Until we have some proof or further word, we cannot move forward with a plan of action. The rest are dismissed."

As people began to file out, and Arthur was bullied to his feet – one of the guards hit his chest, right on his raw red _X,_ and Arthur nearly doubled over in pain – and dragged from the room, Nimueh turned to Balinor.

"How do we know there will be word?" she asked.

Balinor looked at her coolly. "If Uther cares for his son as much as I do for mine, then there will be word."

* * *

><p>Leon quickly turned a corner into an alcove and pressed himself inconspicuously into the castle of Camelot's wall. His cape's hood was not up, because that would draw too much attention, and his face hadn't been seen around here for years. But the shoulders of the cape served its purpose: to hide any sign of a scar that might peek over his shirt.<p>

He'd followed the knight that he had nearly shot into town, watching as the man rushed to the king. And then Leon stood as close to the throne room as he dared, waiting and watching.

He wasn't sure what was going to happen, and he felt more alive and aware than ever, aware that he could be dead within a matter of hours. If Balinor went ahead with the execution, Leon would have to try to stop it, because as far as he was concerned, Arthur was his prince. There were very few ways that could end favorably, but hey, he wouldn't be the first person to escape Camelot's clutches. Leon had done it.

Leon didn't get a very good look at Arthur when he was being led in, but he saw the angry red burn and bit back anger. He was here to watch and listen silently, not to cause a commotion, he reminded himself.

When everyone was inside, Leon crept closer to the open door of the throne room, but didn't dare get close enough to see.

He heard a little before he spotted a guard turning into the hallway, probably coming to guard the outside of the door. Leon casually walked down the hall the other way until he turned a corner, and then he put his ear to the stone and tried to make out what he could, which wasn't much.

When the guard outside the open door went inside, Leon didn't waste a second in coming closer.

"_I will have Kilgharrah fly above the forest and keep a look out, as well as being a warning to anyone watching. Sir Lancelot, ready the man to be prepared to attack or defend at a moment's notice. Until we have some proof or further word, we cannot move forward with a plan of action. The rest are dismissed."_

Leon quickly turned and walked away, head down, turning the corner before anyone grew suspicious, and then ducking into the alcove until the coast was clear and he could leave.

He wanted so much to stay, to go to Arthur and help him.

But chances are Uther was already frantic, and by the time Leon got back, would demand to know everything, and now that Leon knew, he should go back. He should go back and help his own side prepare for whatever might happen.

Proof. Balinor wanted proof. Alright, they could give him that.

And then he would make his decision, and then Uther would have to make his. Leon hoped they were decisions that didn't end in the destruction of the Mundanes.

When there was no one around, Leon slipped out of the castle and headed to the stables, where he had left his horse.


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: School has officially started again, so that will get in the way of my writing a bit. I will try to update once a week, probably on Fridays or Saturdays. Which means you should get another chapter in a few days! Yay. And I don't know how many chapters are left. I was going to try to stop at 30, and I know what I want to happen, but I don't know how long it will take to make it happen! Merlin can go on…**

* * *

><p>When Arthur had been arrested, Morgana had cried to get Merlin to sympathize, but the tears had been quite real. Though she had grown used to Camelot since she arrived here, and realized that she was reasonably safe here, Camelot was not a safe place for Arthur's kind, and grudgingly and unintentionally, they were the people that she identified with.<p>

Camelot was an uneasy place, and the thought of Arthur thrown into the chaos that hated his family with such unrelenting passion caused her to panic.

And when she cried, she had meant every hot tear.

Merlin did not come back to his room that night, and by the time dawn was beginning to edge through the window, Morgana realized that Merlin had left her. He had not saved Arthur. Tears began to pool in the green lake of her eyes again.

She realized that she should get up, now, full of fury and determination, and go save Arthur herself. But he had begged her not to after she left Merlin's room, and his words had chased her back here. And she didn't know how she would even manage to help him escape all by herself. So instead she sat there, hating herself.

Then Lancelot came to Merlin's room where she still waited, and told her his horrible news: There was a stay of execution because Merlin had been kidnapped by the vicious Mundane Uther and had sent a note which said that any further injury done to Arthur would be revenged on Merlin, and that the prince would not be returned until Arthur was returned to his people.

Morgana stared at Lancelot blankly, her eyebrow beginning to tilt as her curls fell about her face.

Lancelot surveyed her with faint alarm, evidently nonplussed by the way she took the news. "Don't worry," he told her. "We will get Merlin back."

"Will you?" she asked coldly. "Balinor will agree to cooperate with the rebels, then?"

"Not now," he said awkwardly. "But he won't do anything that will let Merlin be hurt. Are you alright?"

Lancelot didn't quite know what to think of her, Morgana knew. He wasn't the sort of person to fraternize much with the ladies or sorceresses overly much. He knew her through Merlin, she suspected, and so he knew she had much affection for the prince. But he suspected she cared for Arthur as well. And now he thought she was torn up by the news that Merlin had been kidnapped.

Lancelot was so wrong.

Yes, her heart sped up whenever Merlin sat too near her. And yes, she knew him well—and she liked him better than anyone she knew, she suspected. And yes, whenever Arthur was arrested, she had cried.

But this was different. Now both of the men she cared about were trapped and had their lives hanging in the balance. But the thought of Uther's camp did not unsettle her like the dark side of Camelot—the mossy, infested underside of a rock. No, despite the many near misses and fearful nights, that camp was peaceful in her heart. She knew Uther would not hesitate to slaughter Merlin like a lamb, but still, to her, she felt like Merlin had more protection than Arthur.

And, by Camelot's magic, perhaps she was a terrible person, but her first thought upon hearing Lancelot's news was: _How can I make this work to my advantage?_

Now, as Lancelot asked after her well-being, she started into action. "I am well," she said. "But tired. I must go talk to Balinor—I'm worried he might act too hastily, and then Merlin would get hurt." She stood up and cast Lancelot a shaky smile on her way out of the room.

She swept through the halls without pausing. Her wish was to go down and talk to Arthur about their feelings on this new event – like when they were younger and nursing each other's wounds – but that was not practical. She would go to her king, she mused, and try to sweet-talk him into what she wanted.

That thought made her stop and grin briefly. It reminded her of all the talks of loyalty she had heard from Uther and Balinor and their sons. Talks about what it meant to be loyal to monarch and country. None of them had involved learning how to get what you want no matter what and be loyal to the one that keeps you safest and gives in easiest. But, Morgana thought, smiling like a cat, she was a pretty woman, and they were not known for conventional loyalty.

No wonder Lancelot the Noble tended to avoid them.

_At least what I want coincides with what is best for the most people, sort of,_ Morgana told herself, and shook the thought away.

Morgana took a deep breath as she arrived at her destination before she signaled for the guards to open the courtroom door. They did as she asked, and she swept inside, noting that Balinor was alone. She straightened her back a little and put her chin toward the sky as she called him "my lord" and waited for him to look up from the map laid on the table in front of him.

"Morgana," he said in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"I figured at a time like this, you would be here," she answered. "Where is your wife?"

"I sent her away. You look horrible," he then said with all the tact of a hermit who had lived alone in a cave for twenty years. "What's wrong?"

"I slept on a table waiting for Merlin to return to his room," Morgana answered, not bothering too take offense. She was wearing the same dress as yesterday, and she knew what her hair looked like.

Balinor raised his eyebrows at her, but she simply rolled her eyes. "He left in the middle of an important conversation," she said by way of explanation. Then she paused. "So. We lost him."

Balinor glared down at the map in front of him like it was personally responsible for his problems. "He was taken. There is so much I don't know, though. I don't know who delivered the note on the arrow. Who took him. We don't even know that it was Uther who took him—it could be someone throwing the blame onto him. There might be no blame. Merlin might come home any second."

Morgana laughed drily. "You don't believe that, though. You think Uther stole your son and now you need to get him back."

"I sent the dragon to sweep over the land and watch for Merlin."

Morgana nearly laughed. Uther had stayed hidden from Balinor's sight for two decades. He hadn't done that by sitting where he could be seen from the sky when his opponent was a _dragonlord._ He did it by being really good at it. But she closed her mouth, swallowed, and instead said, "Aren't you worried he'll perceive the threat and hurt Merlin?"

Balinor looked at her. "I can't just sit and do nothing."

"Granted. But how far are you willing to go if every injury on him when you get him back is going to be your fault?" she asked, and that gave him pause.

Sighing, she relaxed. Hopefully that would keep him from doing anything too drastic as far as searching was involved. He looked honestly worried now, and she knew well that she had just pulled something inside his heart. She had no pity, though.

"You'll want me to get Gaius, then," she said off-handedly, hoping he would take the bait.

"Why would I want that?" he looked flummoxed, and she knew from the tired way his eyes settled on her that he just wanted this conversation to be over.

She pretended to be confused. "Did you have a different physician in mind?" she asked.

"Who is injured?" he finally asked. Like a fish grabbing at a wriggling worm.

"Arthur Pendragon," she said, tilting her head. "Of course he needs a physician. Those burns are open wounds, you know, and the dungeons are not clean by any definition of the word. If the execution has been stayed," she continued blithely, as though she couldn't see him growing older before her eyes, "then the wounds could become infected. He could die. And then you would have no bargaining chip."

Balinor looked like a lost child for a moment. "But, Morgana…"

"Did my sister ever tell you that I had a run in with Uther's refugees once?" she asked. "He's a mean man, Balinor. He would kill your son without blinking. Just as you would do to his." She finally bit her tongue, because even she heard the bitterness in the last sentence. She needed to watch that.

Balinor's head drooped, and she could almost see gray beginning to grow on his head. "You are a cruel woman, Morgana," he told her.

She tried to look sorry. "I do it to be kind, Sire." She pulled on her dress to straighten it, watching as he studied the table harder.

"Get Gaius, then, child," he said. She curtseyed and turned away from him, reaching for the door.

As she went, she knew he was putting his head down and cringing from the pain, but she couldn't stop her triumphant smile.

It felt good to be doing something again. To have the power again. She hadn't been in control since Arthur arrived in Camelot.

* * *

><p>Merlin was desperately trying to remain in control of himself and his situation.<p>

The chains sort of made that point laughable, but he was giving it his best shot.

_Kilgharrah_, he thought, pushing his thoughts outward, and then mentally shouting some words in the dragon tongue. _Come on, Kilgharrah. I need you. I need you. I'm here. Can you hear me?_

He had tried talking out loud, but a man he did not recognize had stuck his head in a little after dawn and stared at him suspiciously upon hearing him, so now Merlin kept his pleas in his head. He had to contact the dragon telepathically. Which he _could_ do. On a good day.

_Curse this father-to-son-upon-death thing! _

He had to keep alert until the dragon heard him. The dragon had to hear him eventually, right?

He ended up staring intensely at the wall with his brow furrowed, seeing nothing, for longer than he could keep track of.

And then someone moved aside the flap to the tent, causing him to start and awaken from his self-induced daze. The screaming in his head instantly shut off, leaving him feeling inexplicably hoarse. He wondered if he would be able to do more than croak if he tried.

He looked towards the man who had just entered, and started all over again. He'd never seen the man before in his life, except perhaps in representations. But that wasn't likely. He knew who it was anyway. He could see Arthur's facial features there, but craggier and so much sterner. He could see the authority with which the man walked.

Merlin watched him walk in, with a long-haired man behind him, and another man to serve as a guard. He thought he spotted Gwen's face at the flap. (Judging by the light behind her, it was well into the day now, and he suddenly realized he was starving.)

Merlin swallowed nervously. In his hand, Uther held a knife.

Flexing his hands, the prince discovered that the bonds held as well as ever.

Uther stood before him. Merlin hadn't realized the tent was tall enough to stand in, but indeed it was, though with four people the place was cramped—one man slipped just outside, seeming to notice this. But he kept his eyes on the goings-ons. As though he was expecting something exciting.

"Your father wants proof that you are indeed in our grasp, I have been informed."

Merlin silently licked his lips. This man was… authoritative. That was the best way he could think to say _scary. _

Uther rolled the knife about in his hands, staring at it like the gleam fascinated him. "We shall have to give him proof so that negotiations can commence," Uther said.

Merlin's heart skipped a beat, but his face was bland.

"Did they brand my son?" The words fell like arrows seeking flesh to lodge in. Merlin didn't reply but he didn't meet Uther's eyes either—he stared at a point over the man's right ear instead. Chances were he knew the answer anyway, and was only asking it to prove a point.

"Well?" Uther asked, leaning forward, the knife held out. He put the blade above Merlin's ear, vertical and sharp. Merlin tried to sit very still.

Uther inched the blade downward, just a tiny bit. The edge bit into the soft skin below Merlin's dark hair. Merlin tensed and looked up at Uther, waiting. He would see it in the man's eyes before he felt the pain of losing his ear—he knew that. He had seen enough blows fall to know you could see the conviction a second before anything occurred.

"Did they?" Uther asked.

"I think you know better than I do," Merlin finally grunted, surprised to find his voice not at all raw. "I haven't been in Camelot since the trial."

"True," Uther said. He pulled away from Merlin's ear. "They did," he told Merlin.

Part of Merlin's heart sank at the news, but he kept his face neutral.

"And now your father wants proof that I have his only son like he has mine," Uther continued. He leaned down further and grabbed Merlin's bound hand, pushing the dark-haired man nearly onto his face as he took the pinky firmly in his grip and brought the knife there.

Merlin squirmed to get his face out of the dirt.

The piercing sensation in Merlin's hand was terrifying, and as Merlin looked into Uther's face, he suddenly saw it—the conviction.

He flinched as Uther swiftly reached to Merlin's hand, grabbing him by his hair and pulling him upright, slicing the knife across the hairs in his fist. Merlin felt like his scalp was being ripped off, and then Uther was pulling away with a handful of Merlin's hair in his hand.

Uther than went for Merlin's sleeve, slicing off a chunk without cutting the prince, and wrapping the hair in it.

Merlin stared at him, and Uther looked back, noting the tears in Merlin's eyes—Merlin blinked furiously, but he couldn't _help it. _That's what happened when his hair was pulled!

Uther smiled. "That is all for now," he promised. "But I could've, and I hope you don't forget it. And I hope Balinor doesn't forget it."

And then he turned and left, holding his prize.

Merlin watched just long enough to see all the men leave and Gwen look at him with uncontrolled and undisguised pity before he turned away, blinking and shaking his newly uneven haircut.

He needed to get out of here.

Then he opened up his brain like a storm cloud, letting his dragon-voice rip out of him like lightning, doubling his efforts.

_KILGHARRAH!_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Can I say I love writing Morgana? There's something so unrepentantly mean about her even when she's good. **

**And why, yes, fernazab, that last scene was just to torture you two. **


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: I know, I should have had this chapter out yesterday, but hey, it's still been less than a week—don't be so ungrateful. Actually, I didn't get it out because I was watching Matt Smith act all night. Is that so wrong? I don't care what anyone else says, Matt Smith is my favorite. Please don't unalert me for that—David Tennant is also amazing and more adorable, probably. But something about that 11th Doctor, man.**

**I'm thinking this will be 31 chapters, give or take.**

* * *

><p>Arthur was flat on his back in his cell, feeling the cold stones digging unevenly into his largely uninjured back. This was the most comfortable he could get—his chest was still burning, and any position that didn't require effort and kept his wounds away from anything that might brush them was the position he wanted to adopt. He was cold, though… He suspected he had some fever. Probably to be expected.<p>

He wasn't going to die, he told himself. Not of his burns, anyway. Not now.

The silence around him gave him plenty of time to think. But he found that thinking about himself was a bit unappealing at the moment. Usually misery could be endured if you could think, _It's okay—tomorrow, next week, whenever… It will all be better then. _But Arthur didn't have that guarantee. Things had gone to hell in a big way—in a week, what with Balinor feeling threatened, there might not be a rebel camp to which he could return.

He wouldn't think about himself then, a wounded rebel lying nearly forgotten in Camelot's magic-infused dungeons.

He thought about Merlin. Arthur wondered what he was thinking about: captured by the people he hated most and being used as a bargaining chip to save the spy who had infiltrated Camelot. Did he even know what was going on? Arthur snorted into the darkness; he could just picture the confusion and pointless anger on Merlin's face. It was probably objectively hilarious.

Was he hurt? It was more than possible. Arthur was surprised that his fellow Mundanes had been able to take him at all, much less uninjured. Idly, Arthur hoped – or supposed he hoped – that Merlin wasn't injured. But really, he couldn't dredge up much feeling for anything.

He was so weary.

Arthur thought about Morgana next. He was glad she seemed to have taken his words to heart and decided to stay out of it. It was probably killing her to sit back and do nothing, but it really was best. If anyone could smooth everything over and pave the way back into society for Arthur's Mundane religion, it was Morgana. She just needed to wait until Merlin was saved and everything had blown over.

Where would Arthur be at that point?

Arthur heard footsteps and closed his eyes in exasperation. Someone was approaching his cell, and they were carrying a torch. He could see the light beneath his eyelids. Inside his mind, he was groaning.

Balinor came back again? Really? All Arthur wanted was to sleep or get as close to that state as possible. If the king was going to harass him and yell at him some more, Arthur was going to have to spit in his obnoxious magic-loving face. It might be worth the consequences.

The cell door opened, so Arthur opened his eyes and turned his head to face the person who intruded on his solitude.

It was Gaius, holding his medical bag.

The white-haired old man came forward in the gloom, putting the torch in his hand into the holder on the wall. It cast a faint orange glow over the entire dungeon, and Arthur liked the way it _popped_ faintly as it consumed the soaked cloth.

"There is no bed to put him on," Gaius muttered, maybe to himself, "to spare an old man's back."

Arthur lifted his eyebrows, and Gaius smiled at him, kneeling and gingerly patting his arm. "Indeed," he agreed. "You are correct; there are bigger issues to be dealt with. You are hot; there is some fever there."

He reached into his doctor bag, and Arthur relaxed into himself, accepting the pain that was eating away at his abdomen. Gaius would do what he could. Bless that Hippocratic Oath again.

Gaius pulled a bottle out of his back and held it up to the torchlight, squinting his craggy eyes. And as he did, he spoke. "Arthur Pendragon," he muttered to himself, and looked down at the blue-eyed man who watched him expectantly.

"I thought I recognized you from somewhere," Gaius said.

Gaius had worked for his father. He'd turned on Uther when the Counter-Purge and the rebellion had come about, and so in an unspoken way, it was known that Uther hated him. Gaius had married one of the people that Uther had tried to kill. And yet, it was suspected – no one said anything for sure, though, not in so many words – that Gaius was also responsible for the escape of many Mundanes from Balinor's wrath. Possibly including Leon.

Arthur didn't say anything. He just didn't have anything to tell Gaius, the man he didn't know at all—despite living with him for two weeks.

Gaius continued as he pulled out more herbs and a towel that Arthur could see was dripping wet, "I suppose people tell you a lot that you look like your father, don't they?"

They did.

"You do have aspects of him, I suppose…" Gaius grumbled, reaching out with the wet towel in his hand and patting the first burn, the one on his shoulder. Arthur hissed, and Gaius glanced down at him, but though the contact did hurt, it wasn't too much worse.

Arthur sucked in his bottom lip and collected himself.

"You look like your mother, in truth." Arthur's eyes snapped to Gaius. "You look like your mother. Ygraine was one of the loveliest women I've ever met, you know," Gaius finished, and then fell silent.

Arthur stared at him for a few seconds longer before a noise from the doorway grabbed his attention. Looking through the gloom, Arthur spotted Morgana leaning against the bar that made up the doorway, holding it in one hand with white knuckles, and staring silently at him.

She'd brought Gaius, he realized.

Tiredly, he smiled at her.

* * *

><p><em>Kilg…a…<em>

The dragon shook out his long neck as he swooped through the air. He'd almost thought he'd hurt something, but it must have been his imagination. Even with his perfectly splendid – better than all humans' anyway, _thank you very much _– hearing, there wasn't much he could hear this high up and with the wind whipping past his small draconic ears.

_Ki...g…_

The dragon must just be hearing himself think. He did that sometimes, after all. He lived alone for the most part, and he grew accustomed to not differentiating between noises external and internal. Whenever Balinor spoke to him, the noises were both inside and outside his head, which further confused the issue.

_Kilgharrah. _

It was like someone was calling his name.

The dragon pulled up short and began dropping lower towards the trees. On the off-chance that he could hear something – and this did feel familiar – he wanted to be able to hear whoever was doing this infernal whispering better.

He kept low as he pumped his wings, wishing to be high above the trees riding the more buoyant patches of air… It was probably all his imagination anyway… He would just go back up into the air, then, if it was probably nothing…

_KILGHARRAH! _

The bellow nearly knocked him out of the air. The dragon's eyes flew wide with alarm as he righted himself and rolled over quickly in the air, collecting himself. Despite the shock his three-chambered heart had just received, he recovered quickly, answering back in as dry a voice as he could manage.

"Yes, young warlock?"

_Kilgharrah! Oh, thank the gods, you can hear me! Where have you been?_

"I have been flying. I must have just flown into range of your weak mind connection."

_Yeah, yeah, this is hardly the time to be mocking me for my weak mind connection. I am a non-dragonlord who can mentally communicate with a dragon. I think that if anything you should be impressed. And considering the circumstances…_

"Indeed, young warlock. And I trust you are uninjured?" Kilgharrah made a turn and flew back the way he had been going, still low. He was getting closer—Merlin's words were getting stronger.

_Mostly. I've got a bit of a headache and a truly terrible haircut. I could use an extraction, though. _

"Would you prefer me to fly back to your father and inform him of your whereabouts, or follow your voice and extract you myself?"

_Helpful today. But, hell, don't get my father involved right now. We're not ready for the war. Besides, the sooner the better. I want to get out of these chains. And I think perhaps a few of these people would be interested to meet a fire-breathing reptile. _

"I will be there presently, then," the dragon said. "And it might be interesting for you to know, young warlock, that neither your father nor your grandfather ever managed to get themselves into this hostage situation."

_I'm special. _

"Your excuses are weak, Merlin."

_I'll try not to do it again. _

* * *

><p>Gwen was with Gwaine when it began to rain fire.<p>

They were talking about Arthur, of course, since that was all anyone who cared about him seemed to be able to talk about. And they were carefully avoiding the subject of the prince they had currently chained up in Gwaine's tent.

They'd discussed that earlier, after all, but Gwaine was not open to reason. He didn't seem to receive Gwen's quiet pleas for him to recognize the nervous piece of humanity they had here, and they just could not see eye to eye on the whole thing. Gwen felt they might all come to regret this, but Gwaine insisted there wasn't another choice.

So they didn't speak of it.

They spoke of Arthur.

"He's going to be okay, Gwen," Gwaine said, fingering his sword, and looking up at the trees. "With all the people he's got determined to get him back? I'm sure Uther alone could probably take out a few dozen sorcerers for him."

Gwen brushed her hair back. "What do you think happened to Morgana?" she asked suddenly.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you think she knows about Arthur? I mean, she went into Camelot a year ago. If she's even still… alive… Do you think she's heard?"

"I don't know," Gwaine said. "What difference does it make?"

"She always felt that he was like her brother, you know."

"You couldn't tell," Gwaine said with a snort, and Gwen laughed along with him.

"But," Gwen insisted, "if she is still in Camelot, and she did hear, do you think she might—?"

That was when the first scream resounded. Fire was dripping like syrup down from the trees, and suddenly light flooded the entire camp. Gwen gasped, and Gwaine pushed her back behind him as he whipped out his sword. Both faces were lit by firelight as they looked up into the burning trees, the blue sky above it, and the dragon whipping past.

A roar ripped through the air, and pandemonium officially reigned.

There was Uther, his hut already encased in flames. He was shouting orders to Leon with a sword firmly in his grasp, and Leon echoed them loudly to the men.

"Get your wives and children to safety! Escape plan three! I need the rest of you to me! Draw your weapons, and avoid being in sight! Get woman and children to safety!"

Gwaine looked back at Gwen with wide eyes, whipping his hair from his face. "Three," he said. "Peter and Bedivere will lead the women and children away from the attack as quickly as possible while the men fight back, and we will meet you again later."

"I know what the third escape plan is, Gwaine," Gwen said, grabbing the dagger she kept hidden in her boots. She switched it to her other hand and looked around. The dragon roared again and a tree fell, nearly flattening several tents. "I'm supposed to care for the children."

"I need to get you to safety," Gwaine said, grabbing her arm, but still facing the dragon which was now diving only to pull up again with just several fireball potshots in the trees.

"No!" Gwen snapped, wiping the sweat from her face and pulling away. "No, he's barely causing any damage!"

"What? Are you kidding? Are you looking at this?"

"He's a dragon. This is nothing. Why is he holding back? He doesn't want to destroy the whole camp?"

Gwaine looked up and then back at Gwen. "Well, because he's here for…"

The click was nearly audible as both of them understood at the same time. "Merlin," they both agreed. Then Gwaine took off running, Gwen at his heels.

"So what is the plan?" she asked, confident that he already had one.

"No bandit burns the caravan with the prize still inside," Gwaine said. "And so they don't burn anything behind it. Stick behind me, Gwen."

She was glad to. They ducked falling foliage as they ran through the camp, straight towards Gwaine's tent. It was sitting there, deceptively peaceful. Gwaine dove for it and ripped it open, glancing inside where Merlin sat, still chained, watching as part of the roof began to burn away.

"Worried about burning to death?" Gwaine asked. "Don't worry about it."

"I wasn't," Merlin told him as Gwaine went inside, grabbed him by his arm, and dragged him out. Merlin flinched as sore and cramped limbs were pulled carelessly. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Using you as a shield," Gwaine answered calmly, hoisting Merlin to his feet and indeed, he kept him in front of his body.

"Coward," Merlin commented.

"I'm sorry, I don't accept criticism from murderers or people with idiotic haircuts," Gwaine said, jerking his neck to control his own fine hair. "But thank you for your input. Gwen, can you hold him up, do you think?"

"Um, no," Gwen said.

"Fine," Gwaine said, and manhandled Merlin until he was in front of Gwen instead. "So you'll have to support yourself, Sire. Just you remember I've got this sword. Gwen, keep him in front of you, and keep your dagger on him, for heaven's sake."

Gwen nodded and looked to Merlin. "You called the dragon here?" she asked.

Merlin knew that in reality he had nothing to be ashamed of – he'd been kidnapped, after all! – but somehow she just sounded so betrayed that he didn't want to answer. No wonder she'd completely stolen Arthur's heart; he seemed to have rather a soft one…

_Dangerous thought territory,_ Merlin told himself. _Way to humanize the people you just called hell down on. _

"Course he did," Gwaine said. "Get your dragon's attention, Sire."

Merlin cast him a look of disgust.

Gwaine lifted his sword. "People are going to die if you don't," he said. "And you are going to be one of them."

Merlin glared.

"Sire, please," Gwen said softly. "You might not care if I ever get Arthur back, but what about all the women and children here? Your dragon will kill them!"

Oh, sweet Camelot. He was being guilt-tripped by two criminals pointing weapons at him. He could almost laugh. _He was being guilt-tripped by two criminals pointing weapons at him._

"Gwen, he doesn't c—" Gwaine started, but Merlin cut him off.

"Kilgharrah!" he shouted. "Kilgharrah, I'm here! Don't attack! Just look at me!"

The dragon's fire ceased as the warlock's call reached his ears and mind, and he turned in the air, flapping mightily as he turned gold eyes on the humans.

"Young warlock," he said with a voice like stones rubbing together. "Your plans have changed."

"They have," Merlin called back, Gwaine's sword now at his throat. "Don't attack anymore."

The dragon looked down. "They plan on shooting at me soon," he said.

"I'll make it quick," Merlin called. "They'll kill me if you attack right now. And you can't hit them without hitting me."

"I shall go and inform your father, then," the dragon said, but Merlin knew it was really a question.

Gwaine's sword got closer, and Gwen stiffened.

"No!" Merlin snapped. "No! I have a better idea. Gwen. Gwen, you want Arthur back, don't you?"

"Of course I do!" she replied, panicked.

"And I want to go home to my family, too," Merlin said. "I think we can all get what we want without having to destroy the entire camp. See? See, I don't want to destroy the Mundanes."

"He's lying!" Gwaine snapped at Gwen.

"You can bring Arthur back?" Gwen asked hopefully.

The dragon looked impatient—as impatient as a centuries-old dragon can really be.

"Why would I lie?" Merlin asked. "I've got a gargantuan dragon! And I know where you live. He could sweep me off the ground right now and leave you in the dust." Gwen clutched onto him at those words, determined to have a good hold on him.

"Why would you help us?" Gwaine asked. "You hate Mundanes. You kill people who don't practice the Old Religion." Meanwhile, the men were still fleeing. Women and children were almost no where in sight. Trees and tents burned.

"Arthur saved my life," Merlin said. "He saved my mother's life. Gwen here helped me. I think I owe them. Besides, maybe…" He took a deep breath. "Maybe I'm rethinking my father's policies."

It was true. He had been for a while. He was still trying to decide on his own thoughts, though—it would take a while, and Morgana would help him. He hated to admit it with the thoughts so young, though, hated to give out false hope. It was a rule of being royal. Never show that you doubt your beliefs. Whatever you believe, do it with passion. But Gwaine needed this, and so he bent the rules.

Gwaine stared at him.

Gwen spoke. "What do you want us to do?"

Merlin smiled. "Get me to the trees. We need to disappear, so the camp will have no trace of us. Kilgharrah, withdraw, stop attacking. I need you to go to Camelot and get me Lancelot or Morgana, and I need to have them brought to me. Don't tell them what's going on, just tell them I say it's important and to tell no one. And my father. Don't tell my parents, please. Can you do that, friend?"

The dragon snorted. "I cannot lie to a dragonlord."

"But you can trick him. I've watched you do it. You're wily."

"Flattery, young warlock, will not win everything. But I will do as you ask, because I wish to see what the destinyless ones make of themselves. Young warlock, Sir Gwaine and Lady Guinevere – with your changed fates! – I will return."

He flapped his giant scaled wings, neck arching to the sky, and as the dragon flew away, leaving the burning trees and panicked camp behind, three people scampered into the woods, one of whom had chains trailing behind him and was having trouble moving. And then they disappeared into the forest.


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: So sorry, I've been trying to write this for over a week. But you know, I sit down to do it and then it's like, I have something else to write. Or I have to go do something. Or I make the mistake of going to YouTube and it's all Avengers fanvideos for the next two hours. **

**Two more chapters after this! If it doesn't fit, I WILL MAKE IT FIT.**

* * *

><p>The midday sun lit up the floor of the room as Balinor sat back on his throne, one hand clasped around a piece of cloth.<p>

He looked up at the knight who had brought it to him, his eyebrows drawn.

Nimueh stood in the back of the room. Hunith was next to him. And the fighter looked out of place.

"You say you found this with this note?" Balinor pointed at the paper next to him. It was just old parchment, torn at the edge. Only one word was scribbled on it, in thick letters: PROOF.

"Yes, Sire," the knight repeated. "This morning. I came as soon as possible." His blue cape was wet from morning dew near the bottom. It hadn't dried yet.

Balinor nodded and looked at the cloth, trying not to show his fear and disgust. Something about this cloth. It was not enchanted—Nimueh had checked. But this was a cloth from his greatest enemy.

"Hopefully," Balinor managed to say clearly, "it does not contain some sort of snake."

And then he pulled back his finger and let the bundle open. The cloth pulled back and the inside of the packet fell—small clumps of black hair wafted into the air.

Balinor was on his feet, pale as death, before they hit the ground.

* * *

><p>Morgana was looking out of her window when she saw the dragon descending, and felt worry gnawing at her stomach. Frankly, she'd hoped the dragon wouldn't make another appearance—Kilgharrah could mess up too many things for her right now. Her brain was working overtime trying to fit everything into her plans.<p>

Arthur was healing nicely. He was standing up again without looking like he would fall down; all it took was some sleep. She'd seen the knight come in with the bundle of "proof". It was a scary thought, but it would keep Balinor from doing anything too dangerous to Arthur.

She hoped Merlin was well, but there wasn't much she could do about that—Uther wouldn't endanger the life of every Mundane he knew by doing the prince any lasting damage. Not unless he thought he could also take out Balinor at the same time, and since Balinor was sage in Camelot

(Assassination attempts aside; even if they knew who killed the assassinated prince, they wouldn't be able to track the Mundanes down because Arthur would have been long gone. Or as far as she could figure. Stupid Uther and his stupid plans that she had to work out all by herself… She could be totally wrong and Merlin could already be dead!)

She was hoping she would be able to twist a mostly happy ending out of all this. Hunith would support her, she knew—the queen just wanted Merlin back, and she wouldn't mind giving Arthur up.

Sure, life was a constant battle between two forces she cared about, and Morgana knew that eventually one of them would probably be destroyed. But it didn't have to be today.

But that dragon! Balinor was hoping the dragon would be able to give him some information on Merlin's whereabouts, allowing him to bypass the part of the deal where he lost Arthur Pendragon.

Morgana was hoping Kilgharrah would fall out of the sky. Alas, no luck. She could see the dragon, coming down near… the edge of the forest? Morgana cocked her head to the side. Not into the forest, and not right in the middle of the square. Odd. That wasn't where he usually went…

Morgana narrowed her eyes as she adjusted her dress (she was wearing red, almost reminiscent of Pendragon red, just to be contrary) and started for the door to her chambers.

* * *

><p>Lancelot didn't take much notice of the dragon until it landed in front of him.<p>

He'd seen it flying overhead, but assumed Kilgharrah was going to see the king, and resumed what he was doing—that was, searching around the edge of the trees that grew up outside of Camelot's gates for some kind of clue as to Merlin's kidnapping.

He wasn't really thinking he would find anything, though… Uther wasn't entirely stupid.

All the same, he would check under every rock. It was his job to protect Merlin— and he had failed. He hoped never to do it again.

Lancelot leant down to check out a spot on the floor. Was that a footprint?

A huge gust of wind suddenly pressed down on the unsuspecting knight, popping his ears and forcing him down onto the ground as his knees buckled.

He inhaled so sharply that he forgot to properly clear his mouth of saliva first, and spent the next minute choking helplessly on the ground, eyes tearing up. He tried to roll over and get an idea of what had just happened, but failed. He couldn't see past the tears.

At last he wiped his hand over his eyes, gave a few more hacks, and leapt to his feet, looking around and praying no one had seen that. That had been the most uncoordinated moment of his entire life.

Blushing, he discovered a giant lizard-like face staring at him with grave golden eyes.

"Oh," he said.

"Greetings, little knight," Kilgharrah said, because he'd already stomped on the knight's ego enough. He might as well, Lancelot thought, just go whole hog and throw in the whole _little_ thing as well.

"You surprised me," Lancelot said, bowing, forever polite. "I apologize. I thought you were going to consult with the king."

"I am not going to talk to Balinor today. I came to discuss with you."

Lancelot froze. "Me?" He pointed to himself, in case there was someone else that the dragon could have been referring to.

"Yes, Sir Lancelot," the dragon said. "Your prince requested that I come."

"Merlin," Lancelot exclaimed. "Is he okay? How did he talk to you? You know where he is? We need to tell the king."

"He is whole, and indeed, I know where he is, but Merlin has asked that I not tell his father."

Lancelot was bewildered. "Why?" he asked, stepping forward, completely forgetting to be polite and keep his distance. "He wanted you to talk to me?"

"Or the witch, Morgana. I believe Merlin wishes to make a peaceful end to this whole business. He says to tell you that it is very important."

Lancelot hesitated, and then nodded. "What does he want you to do?"

"He wants you to come to him?"

"I'll ride out at once. I'll go and get my horse…"

"No, there is a much quicker way to get there," the dragon said, sounding long-suffering.

"What do you mean?" Lancelot asked, tilting his head.

"Sir Lancelot, I will permit you to ride on my back until we get there."

Lancelot's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "I-I'm sorry?"

The dragon sighed and crouched down on the ground, folding his legs underneath him so he was lying down—and for a second he looked so bizarrely like a dog that Lancelot nearly laughed. But that would be detrimental to his health, and Lancelot knew it well, so he did not laugh. As serious and somber as he could be, Lancelot started for the dragon. "How do I get on?" he asked.

"The bottom of my neck," Kilgharrah said. "My spines are wide there. Sit behind one."

Lancelot swallowed. He'd never been this close to the king's dragon… He forced himself not to slow down._ Someone should inform the king, _he thought. _About all this. Merlin better have a good reason for this, not just the desire to run off again! _

He was too close to back away now. Gripping the proffered spine, Lancelot swung a leg over, and then he was riding a dragon.

* * *

><p>Morgana was out of the castle by the time the dragon landed, and she made her way through the town as quickly as she could. At one point, someone tried to steal the necklace she wore around her neck, but Morgana wasn't putting up with that today.<p>

She might still just be an apprentice of magic, learning whenever Morgause was in Camelot or whenever Merlin was willing to teach her, but she did know some spells.

She whispered a word, and her eyes flashed gold.

The thief, a teenaged girl, swore and bent over double, clutching her hand, and falling behind as Morgana kept walking with her head back. The burning in her hand would fade after a while.

Morgana smiled, feeling distinctly empowered.

But then she remembered her situation and stopped smiling, picking up her pace.

She reached the gates and waved the guard who started to ask her a question aside.

She nearly ran along the gate until she saw where Kilgharrah had landed—and where he was now taking off, the figure of Lancelot clear against his scaly back. She stopped in her tracks.

"Lancelot!" she yelled. "_Lancelot_!"

His head jerked to the side and saw her, but it was too late. He was taking off, and the dragon's wings caused wind that made her hair and dress flutter.

The dragon either did not hear her, or did not stop for her. He flew off into the trees, and Morgana was left staring into the sky, terror clutching at her heart.

Lancelot flew off with the dragon. This had to do with Merlin. But Balinor hadn't been told yet. Maybe Merlin was in danger. Maybe Merlin was not in danger.

But one thing was for sure. If Uther still had Merlin, then the dragon would not leave him there while going to get Lancelot. And he wouldn't bring Lancelot unless Merlin had asked for it, surely?

That could only mean that Uther was no longer in charge… He no longer had Merlin.

And the instant that Balinor discovered that, Arthur was dead.

That was not allowed to happen.

Morgana ran back towards the gate. She had to get to the dungeons.

* * *

><p>Lancelot clutched the dragon and yelled above the wind. "That was Morgana! She saw you!"<p>

The dragon stretched his neck out and answered him in his rumbly voice, "I will return for her later if necessary."

"But she'll tell King Balinor!"

The dragon chuckled. "You know little about the seer, little knight."

* * *

><p>Balinor looked out of the window from his pacing. "Was that Kilgharrah?" he asked.<p>

"I don't know, dear," the queen answered tiredly.

"Why didn't he stop and report to me?"

"Perhaps he had nothing to report."

Balinor sighed and drew his hand down his face, trying desperately to think of a subject that didn't involve Merlin. "Have you seen Morgana today, Hunith?"

"I haven't," Hunith said. "I've been with you all day."

"That's right," Balinor said, and they lapsed into awkward silence.

* * *

><p>It took Morgana an hour.<p>

That made her slightly proud of herself. She stole some potion from Gaius, injected it into a bottle of wine, put on her most beautiful and flattering dress, managed to knock out all the guards around Arthur's cells, and simply unlocked the door.

In one hour.

She congratulated herself silently as she opened the door. Arthur stared up at her blankly.

"What are you wearing?" he asked immediately.

"A dress," she answered warily. "I've come to rescue you."

"You've come to…" Arthur sat up, wincing as his bandages shifted. "My father would never let you wear that dress!"

"This is in fashion!" she snapped, and tossed him a shirt. "Here, put that on. It's one of the guard's."

Arthur stared at the cloth in his hand. "_How did you get this?_"

"Arthur, please, you're worse than Hunith. There are more important issues at hand here."

Arthur shrugged on the shirt but continued to glare at her. "This is too dangerous," he said. "You could get killed."

"Things have changed," she said. "I promise that if we get caught, I'll throw you to the wolves… Happy?"

"Not really," Arthur said. "Help me to my feet. What happened? Was it Merlin?"

"I think he escaped," Morgana told Arthur, helping him to his feet. "I couldn't afford to wait."

"But you could afford to change. Or were you already wearing that?"

Morgana rolled her eyes. There was nothing wrong with this dress! It was a _bit _low and a _bit _tight, but overall, nothing worse than the other nobility! Arthur was just used to Gwen. "I changed," she said.

"How will we escape?"

"I left a cloak outside for you," Morgana said. "We'll slip out the back way and make it into the woods. Once we get you figured out, I'll head back to Balinor and pretend nothing happened. He's a bit distracted anyway, I think. Plus, if Merlin is free, as I suspect, he'll head home, right? And then Balinor won't be thinking about you!"

Arthur was swaying on his feet. "Dizzy," he commented. Morgana supported him, but he shrugged her off, standing tall in the gloom of the cell. "Don't worry," he said, looking almost like he'd never been injured in his guard's shirt. "I'll be fine. I did ask you not to do something like this, you know."

Morgana patted him on the shoulder. She wanted to hug him, but that would hurt him. "I decided that you weren't the king, and I could do what I bloody liked," she told him, and grinned.

He chuckled weakly, pushing back his lank and dirty hair. "Lead the way."

* * *

><p>"Where is Morgana? I haven't seen her all day, not even to ask for news of Merlin. That isn't like her," Balinor said, for he'd finale grown tired of waiting for the next demand of Uther while "twiddling his thumbs", as he put it.<p>

Hunith sighed and picked her head up off her arms. She hadn't put on any makeup this morning. Despite the years beginning to show, she looked much better this way—less like a woman trying to hide her age, and more like a queen. But she looked tired. So tired.

"She's not in her rooms," Hunith said. "That's where I just checked for her."

At the long table for the council, Nimueh sat alone, laying out cards, picking them up, and laying them back out. "Perhaps," she spoke, "she went to visit the prisoner."

"Why would she want to visit Arthur Pendragon?" Balinor asked.

Nimueh shrugged. "Attraction? Anger? Boredom? I don't know. It was simply a suggestion." She picked up one card and sighed. "Well, there we go again," she remarked.

Balinor studied her back. "You never just make suggestions," he said.

"Do I not?" Nimueh asked, and though he couldn't see it, she was smiling coldly at her cards.

Balinor pulled back his cape and started for the door. "You do not," he said. "Hunith, will you wait here?"

She nodded as the king walked out the double doors.

Nimueh turned and looked at the queen, smirking. "We might as well prepare for the fight now," she said.

"Why do you say that?" Hunith shared her son's less-than-generous view of this woman, but she was unceasingly kind to her.

"Arthur will not be there," Nimueh said.

"Why do you think so?"

"I have lived longer than you think, my queen. No Pendragon wants to face up to his or her deeds. But this time, they will pay."

Hunith leant back. Bitter, Merlin had called Nimueh. Yes, Nimueh was disastrously bitter. It was a shame, and it was terrifying. "I don't understand," she said.

"Wait," Nimueh ordered.

They returned to silence.

* * *

><p>Morgana and Arthur made it to the trees. The shade welcomed them, and both sighed in relief.<p>

"Camelot," Arthur said, "is beautiful, but it's a lot safer out here."

Morgana laughed. "With the bandits and the wild animals?"

"They are a lot easier to deal with, trust me," Arthur said.

Morgana nodded, looking up trustingly at the trees. "I was so sick of this when I came to Camelot. But I miss it sometimes. Almost enough to come back…"

"Don't," Arthur ordered.

Morgana looked at him in surprise. "You don't want me back?"

Arthur stared at her. "Back where we could die any day? Back where you follow my father's orders or die? Back where every breath you take is one less you have before you get branded or burnt? No, Morgana, we don't want you back." He looked at the ground as he stepped over roots. "I wish I could send Gwen with you. I wish it could be safe for the rest of us."

"Why don't they come then?" Morgana asked. "Mundanes are climbing. Soon, almost all prejudice will be erased. If the people just adopted the Old Religion…"

"You don't just give up or adopt a religion because it's easier," Arthur said. "You do it because it's the right thing to do. Because you believe it."

"That's not why your father does it," Morgana said. "It's all about power for him."

"My father's religion is politics," Arthur said.

"Yours isn't?" Morgana asked.

"My life is politics," Arthur replied. "Not my religion."

Morgana shook her head—and then ducked it forcefully as the strong gust of wind nearly knocked her to her knees. Her eyes flew wide and she looked to Arthur—he had felt it too. His look to her was equally full of alarm.

And they were walking through a young, barely covered, part of the woods.

They ran before they even saw the dragon sweeping above their heads, growing closer. Arthur cast his eyes about desperately. There was no shelter.

"Faster!" Morgana shrieked, panic in her voice.

They couldn't outrun the dragon, but there was the cover of trees, right there, growing closer— Could they beat him after all?

Arthur's legs kept moving, slapping against the air, even as he was elevated into the air by his abdomen. He screamed aloud in pain at the sudden pressure on his wounds, and beside him, Morgana gave an undignified yelp as she too was pulled off the ground.

Morgana twisted uselessly, her dress ripped by talons. "Arthur!" she called.

"Morgana," he gasped, and she could see his face was white.

"What is it? Are you okay?"

"Fine," Arthur lied. "Fine. Where's… where's he taking us?"

"I don't know!" Morgana said. "I just hope he doesn't drop us!"

The dragon roared as he climbed higher into the sky, two wriggling figures caught within his grasp. They did not talk—they simply waited. He flew straight onward, silent as the grave, for a full ten minutes, before at last he dived sharply.

Morgana yelled loudly as they quickly approached the ground, only pulling up at the last moment in order for the two children of Uther to be dumped unceremoniously on the ground.

Swiftly Morgana fixed her skirt, pulling it down and her neckline up with her sore arms—her shoulders felt near disconnected. "Arthur?" she called, pulling her hair out of her face.

"Here," Arthur called, struggling from the ground and gasping. "You okay?"

"Yeah…"

"Kilgharrah figured you two would want to be a part of this conversation."

Both heads jerked up at the calm voice, and Arthur and Morgana were treated to the sight of Merlin standing in front of Gwaine, Gwen, and Lancelot—and they were not dreaming.

* * *

><p>The warning bells began to ring in Camelot. Hunith's eyes went wide, but Nimueh smiled. She could practically smell blood.<p>

* * *

><p>There they were—Merlin had been missing for more than a day, and Lancelot had left on a dragon more than an hour ago. And she hadn't seen Gwaine or Gwen for a year. Her heart filled at once at all of them, standing there trying to look unimpressed, alive and whole and <em>gods<em>, weren't they beautiful?

"Merlin," Morgana said. "Your hair!"

Gwaine sniggered. Merlin rolled his eyes. "Hello to you too, Morgana."

"Did Uther do that? I'll kill him!"

"Arthur!" Gwen cried, and pushed past Merlin, running to throw herself into her almost-sort-of-beau's arms. She wasn't even trying to hold back her tears as she gripped him tightly.

She didn't see his face go completely white, and he didn't tell her.

She sobbed, grabbed his face, and kissed him fiercely, causing him to give a forced laugh. Then he finally reciprocated, putting his arms around her back and kissing her hello. She was much too excited to wait for him to finish though; she broke the kiss and began to kiss his cheeks, his nose, his forehead; really, whatever was closest.

"Guinevere…" he mumbled, looking at the four pairs of eyes on them. Morgana was smirking. Merlin looked faintly disgusted. Gwaine was not looking, but grinning. And Lancelot looked almost… appreciative? Awed? Jealous? Creepy. Arthur turned his eyes back to his beautiful little woman.

"I didn't think I'd ever see you again!" Gwen cried.

He held her close for a moment, ignoring the pain. "It's alright," he said. "I'm here. Nothing happened to me."

That, apparently, was when she noticed the bandages. "Arthur…" she whispered. "Oh, no." She stepped back and pulled at his shirt, noticing the red skin, rubbed raw by the sliding bandages. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. You should have told me."

"What, and missed a good kiss?" Arthur asked. "Don't be silly. I barely feel it."

From his spot a little back, Merlin recognized and respected Arthur's attempt to make Gwen feel better before she became really upset.

"When was that changed? Does it need attention?"

"Not yet," Arthur said. "It's good for now." He looked at Merlin, eyes narrowed. "Morgana thought something was up." Then he looked at Gwaine and Gwen and Lancelot, and asked, "So… what is it that's up?"

"I'm also curious," Morgana admitted. "And what's with the sneak-attack dragon?"

Merlin grinned at her. "Well," he said, "while you've been dangling from Kilgharrah's claws, we've been working out a way to save a lot of lives and avoid conflict."

"Great," Arthur said at once, and when Merlin's eyes went to him, Arthur walked up and held out his hand. "Before you say anything else, though," he said, his young but pained face slanted toward the ground, "I feel like I should apologize. You know. For the lying. And the planned assassination."

Merlin looked slightly nervous. "Well, you did say you changed your mind about the assassination thing."

"Shouldn't kill my future king," Arthur said blithely. "I thought maybe I should just… talk you around instead."

"Talking, yes. You did a lot of that. You talk a lot for someone who says so little," Merlin said uncomfortably.

"We have that in common," Arthur replied, hand still out and waiting for Merlin's acceptance or condemnation.

Merlin laughed and took his hand. "That we do," he agreed, and they shook.

For a moment, there was silence, but then Morgana spoke up. "So," she asked. "What is this plan we were talking about? Because I feel like we're going to need that. Considering we left Camelot without its prisoner."

"We did the same for Uther," Gwaine said.

"Right," said Lancelot. "The plan."

"Well," Merlin said, letting go of Arthur's hand, widely smiling, and looking around at his impromptu little army. "It's going to involve a bit of talking."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: EEP ITS NOT MUCH FARTHER. WAS IT OKAY? WAS THE ARWEN REUNION OKAY? WAS THE HANDSHAKE OKAY? AM I WAY TOO EXCITED ABOUT THIS 4000 WORD CHAPTER? PLEASE REVIEW**


	30. Chapter 30

The dragon left soon after it appeared, completely bewildering the Mundanes, who had been expecting something like that to happen for years… But they had viewed a dragon attack as much more "the end of everything" and much less "less than a half hour attack which didn't even preface soldiers marching in".

Looking around, the rebels had assessed that four people were injured—one probably-sprained ankle from tripping on Blair (but her brother, Tucker, was taking care of her), three burns on the arms and legs of various other Mundanes. Guinevere, the healer, and Gwaine, one of the best fighters of the group, were missing.

And no one had stopped to check on or collect the prisoner.

As soon as it was clear that the dragon was gone, Uther ordered that the nearby stream be used to put out any remaining fires. He had personally gone to check on Prince Merlin after learning that no one had remembered him—Uther didn't know which he feared worse, the chance that he might be free, or the chance that he might be a charred corpse.

Neither spelled well for Arthur.

Uther stalked through the camp, noting that several trees were missing. The smoke in the sky would attract someone, but luckily there was no one within hours' ride of here.

"We'll have to relocate soon," Uther said to Leon, who trailed along behind him.

"After we have Arthur returned to us?"

Uther looked so old, the lines on his face standing out, and his eyes dull. He took a deep breath before saying, "Hopefully so."

Leon wanted to tell the king that it would all be okay, that they would have Arthur returned to them all in one piece, and that soon enough they could go back to their admittedly perilous everyday life. But he simply could not do that. Uther was not a man who inspired emotional words in general; he didn't like to be comforted to the people below him, and sadly, in his mind, most people were below him.

So Leon remained silent, knowing that the loss of Arthur was killing his elder, but unable to say anything.

Uther moved on without speaking, finally reaching the tent where he had cut the boy's hair off—really, it was very lenient of him to just cut off something that didn't bleed, he thought, but he couldn't risk Balinor taking out any anger on Uther's own son. The thought of a mutilated Arthur was… terrifying.

Uther saw the slowly smoldering tent and lifted the flap.

Then he dropped it and sighed. "It's empty," he said.

Leon resisted the urge to look for himself. "What are we going to do?" he asked.

"Look around. He might have just crawled off, in which case he can't have gotten far." Uther sighed. "But if he did, we've lost our leverage. Balinor will know before too long."

"What are we going to do then?"

Uther looked at the sky, which could be seen a bit easier with a few of the trees missing. "We'll strike while the iron is hot," he said, turning away. "If he can't be found, gather as many men that can hold a weapon as you can. We're going to take Arthur back."

Leon's heart fell into his boots. "Sire," he nearly whispered, falling back into the old title—he hadn't used it in years. "We'd be about two dozen men strong. Against Camelot…"

But Uther was beyond listening. "We cannot leave him."

Leon stared at him. "Yes," he said, and turned and walked away. He hoped they found Merlin—it might save all their lives.

* * *

><p>As Balinor came storming into the throne room, Hunith ran to his side, her dress flowing out behind her. She stopped short, nearly falling, grabbing his unresponsive arm. "Balinor…" she said in nearly a whisper.<p>

"He's gone," Balinor told her.

Hunith's eyes went wide. "What are we going to do?" she asked.

Balinor shook his head. "The guards were unconscious. I don't know how he got out." He put his head down for a second.

"So now they've got Merlin and you've got nothing," Nimueh said, standing in the back of the room. "How interesting." Her smile was far from kind. But Nimueh didn't last as long as she had on kindliness.

Balinor glared at her. "Uther has no way of knowing that."

"Right," she said. "And there's no way Arthur could get out of a magically protected cell."

"You knew this was going to happen," Balinor accused her.

"I suspected," Nimueh answered. "It wouldn't be the first time. You haven't got the best…"

"Silence!" Balinor barked at her. "You've put my son's life in danger, Nimueh. You'd better hope I get him back whole."

"I suggest you go on the offensive quickly then," Nimueh said.

Balinor stared at her, and then nodded. "We'll attack," he said. "But how will we find them?"

"Leave that to me," Nimueh said, starting for the door.

Balinor caught her arm. "What are you going to do? He didn't leave anything in the cell to trace, and Merlin's got those anti-tracking spells on him. You said you couldn't track his hair…"

Nimueh waved her arm, and he released her. "It's true. For all your panic about missing people, though," Nimueh said, "You've forgotten one. When was the last time you saw Morgana?"

Then she turned and walked out the room. Hunith went pale and her eyes went wide… _Morgana, what have you done?_

Nimueh walked unaccosted to Morgana's room, smiling to herself. She knew Morgause; she was friends with the other High Priestess, and she knew her family's story. She knew that when Vivienne and Morgause left Gorlois, Morgana stayed, and she suspected the reason behind that—after all, Nimueh had been friends with Uther once too.

When Morgana disappeared, Nimueh hadn't much cared. When grown-up Morgana reappeared and weaseled her way into court, Nimueh let her be. Even if she kept an eye on her.

But with the recent events, Nimueh suspected where Morgana would stand. She wouldn't reveal the young seer; Morgause would be unhappy with that, and Nimueh did not want the blonde as her enemy. But Nimueh would twist things as well as she could so that Pendragon blood would be spilt.

Nimueh had been betrayed, had watched the death of her kind.

It was Uther's turn.

Reaching Morgana's door, Nimueh pushed it open with magic and stalked in. She went for the pillow on Morgana's bed at once; the place where the seer rested her head for hours every day was the best bet because Morgana's _mark _wouldn't wear off so quickly.

Nimueh fingered the pillow, breathing several words. The pillow lit up weakly.

"Don't worry," Nimueh said to it, smiling. "I've got some potion that will make you light up like a torch."

* * *

><p>At the time that Balinor had just gotten his fastest men together and began to march into the forest, following a glowing pillow and leaving his hand-wringing wife behind with Nimueh (he just refused to take <em>her<em> along), and Uther had gathered all his able-bodied men and available weapons (this included a pitchfork), Merlin and his small group started through the forest towards a spot which happened to be directly in between the two armies.

But of course, just like most large bodies of people, moving quickly was a difficulty. Arthur and Merlin moved fastest, their crowd unworried about looking dignified or toting heavy weaponry. Uther was next, with his several dozen men lithe from years spent living in the forest. Balinor had the most men, though the short notice meant that his soldiers were still less plentiful than usual, and moved the slowest.

Perhaps arrogantly, he admitted to himself, he was sure that they would be able to take Uther's Mundanes. Already half-defeated from their living and lack how magic; how much fight could they have?

Slowly, they all moved towards each other, determined that nothing would turn them back. They ran or marched, unable to see the others, with their faces just as set.

Only the dragon, who flew in circles around the forest, could see them all and see it coming.

* * *

><p>It took hours to come together, but it felt like minutes. It felt like minutes before Merlin stopped short in the middle of his conversation with Gwaine, his forehead creased.<p>

"Do you hear that?" he asked.

Gwaine, Lancelot, Arthur, and Gwen stopped, listening. "No," they said.

Morgana paused. "_Clywed_," she whispered. "Yes, I hear it. Here, everyone… _Clywed omnes_."

Gwaine rocked back, not liking the magic—but this was Morgana, after all, and it was hard not to trust her, because he knew her.

"Whoa," Gwen said. "I hear people coming!"

"That's what I heard," Merlin said. "That's a lot of people."

"From both directions," Arthur said, who was standing the farthest from Merlin, over by Morgana and Guinevere.

"Do you think…?" Lancelot asked.

"I do," Merlin said. "I do think that's what it is."

"We can't do this," Guinevere suddenly said, panic choking her.

"Yes, we can. We'll just… tweak the talking and run with it," Merlin said confidently, shaking his head.

Arthur's eyebrows rose. "If you can talk fast enough."

"I've been training to be a diplomat since I was little," Merlin told him.

Lancelot couldn't quite stop himself from grumbling. "Yeah, and they lasted that long because he isn't getting any better."

Gwaine guffawed (with his usual strange tendency to laugh when facing near-certain death).

"They're going to run right into each other," Morgana said.

"Then let's pick up the pace," Merlin said.

* * *

><p>There wasn't really much to say when Uther and Balinor were finally face to face. They hadn't been this close to each other for years; about two decades.<p>

Both were surprised to find that the other was mobile.

But Balinor's men readied their swords or spells silently, and Uther's men stood straighter, and they waited in the sunlit trees for their leader to give the order. Leon shifted uncomfortably, but he kept his eyes on Uther as he lifted his sword.

The once-knight's shirt collar slipped as he moved, falling an inch down his shoulder and revealing the end of the _X_ scar he had gotten many years ago.

The tension grew as the armies (if they could be called that) stood eye-to-eye, waiting, waiting…

It was as Balinor opened his mouth to give an order that suddenly a silent voice echoed throughout the trees, filling the minds of every magic user (and one dragonlord) in the space.

_The first to cast a spell answers to me! _

Every man in Balinor's company stopped, heads swiveling. Uther noticed, and moved to seize their hesitation, his own mouth opening. But then another voice, one spoken out loud this time, caught the ear of everyone.

"Stop!"

It was Arthur's voice.

Now everyone was looking, paused, at the trees just to the side.

It was Gwen who appeared first, throwing herself out of the foliage as she ran towards the Mundanes. Lancelot followed, Morgana directly behind him. The knight's sword was out, and he pushed Morgana back behind him as he faced Uther's men.

Merlin and Arthur came next, prompting Uther to call, "Arthur!" and Balinor to say, "Merlin!" at the same time. Both made their way to the people they belonged with, and everyone was so distracted by them that no one noticed Gwaine making up the rear, completing the return of all the people who had been missing.

"Merlin, you're back," Balinor said softly, staring at his son as though the pale, skinny warlock was a ghost.

"I know," Merlin said. "And my hair's terrible. Morgana told me."

Balinor's eyes left his son's (thankfully uninjured) face and drifted back towards Uther.

Uther met his eyes.

Arthur caught his father's arm. "Father," he said. "I'm back."

"We don't need to fight," Merlin told Balinor in a quiet voice. "Not today. We're not really ready for this."

Balinor looked at Uther. "We might never find him again," he said.

Merlin caught his arm. "People will get killed," he said.

Balinor looked at Arthur. "He was sentenced for espionage. What kind of king lets that go?" he asked.

Merlin looked around a little wildly. Everyone was looking at him. Mentally he broadcasted to the magic-users: _I stand by what I said. _

Then he looked at his father. "You want him to be punished? Fine." He spun around, palm around, eyes flashing gold as they landed on Arthur's figure. Everyone felt the magic that pulsed from him as his glare lit up.

Arthur seized up at once, eyes rolling back—one sharp yelp and he was still, falling backwards. Uther caught him before he hit the ground.

The scream was so loud that it several people grabbed their ears and almost every eye was drawn to her. "Arthur!" Guinevere screamed, immediately at his side. She caught the man she loved, lowering him to the floor at his father's feet, sobs in her voice. "No! No!" she cried. Looking up at Uther, she gasped, "He's dead!"

As one, Uther's men started forward, weapons lifted, and Merlin stopped them with a hand raised to the sky. His knees were bent, his stance ready, and there were tears in his eyes as Gwen continued to sob. "Don't move," Merlin shouted loud enough to be heard. "I could do the same in a second to every one of you. Everyone. Don't move."

And perhaps it was something about his voice, but they stopped and looked to Uther for further instruction.

Merlin didn't turn around—he could feel his father's eyes on him. He could feel Lancelot and Morgana staring at his back, and he couldn't afford to look right now. It probably wasn't true anyway—he didn't even know if he could do the same to all of them.

Uther's face was like having tar dry on skin and then be ripped off. It was so raw and pained that Merlin couldn't even look at him, and when he staggered forward, Gwaine had to come forward and catch him, hold him back.

"Don't, you'll get killed," the brash rebel said to the former king.

Gwen gave another anguished scream as she turned and met Merlin's eyes. "You promised!" she cried. "You said we were going to talk, to work it all out… Without bloodshed…"

Merlin shifted uncomfortably when she looked at him like that. "This was as little bloodshed as I could manage," he told her, and when he looked back (having gotten a grip on everything but the pain in his eyes) to see his own people moving, he yelled, "I told you not to move! Don't move!" His voice broke.

He looked at his father. "Now we can go home," he said. "Father, I have stopped this with as little blood spilt as possible. He has been punished for his crimes—that was the arrangement we had reached."

Balinor stared at him in disbelief. "But they are outlaws!"

"And we are not prepared. They have suffered a heavy loss; leave the rest for another day. When I escaped, I promised that this battle wouldn't happen, that as many lives as possible would be saved." Everyone was listening to him, and all he could do was wonder if he had actually promised that or not. "Arthur… saved the life of your son and wife. He couldn't reap the rewards for that…" Merlin glanced at Gwen. She had Arthur's body mostly hidden from view, and Gwaine had Uther by the shoulders, quietly saying things to keep the anger at bay. Uther was listening, Merlin could tell, but only with half his mind. "So pass them onto his people."

Balinor looked around, his face growing red. "I will not look weak."

Merlin shook his head, turning towards him instead of the people. "You have a dragon. You have a kingdom. And you have me, a powerful sorcerer. You punished the crime, but did not fight the battle you were unprepared for. You aren't weak. You're wise."

And then there was silence.

Lancelot closed his eyes in prayer.

_Go for it,_ Merlin thought, staring at his father. _Come on. Choose wisely, Father, because that's almost all I've got. _

"What if they attack when we turn then?" Balinor asked.

"I'll go last," Merlin said. "They won't move if they know I could destroy them."

Balinor sank down, and nodded. "Today," he said, less blustery than Merlin had ever heard him. "Today we will all live."

Balinor gave the order to turn around and retreat, but Merlin was the one in charge—he stood taller than his father, his head back. The tears were gone from them, though Gwen's distracting sobs continued on.

And then they turned and walked away. Slowly, the soldiers and magicians (most of whom were bewildered and slightly terrified by Merlin's mental cries) drained out of the green forest, leaving alive several dozen raggedy men who couldn't seem to comprehend that they were alive—and that Arthur was lying on the ground underneath Gwen's protective body, not breathing.

Merlin turned back just once before he left, his eyes falling on Gwen.

And with the soldiers leaving, she felt his gaze on her back, and she turned, still on her knees.

For a moment, their eyes met.

And for a moment, just before he turned and followed his king and father back to Camelot, he thought hers sparkled.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Oh, I told my friend R, who reads this story, that everyone was going to hate me after this chapter. Was I right? Or did I totally fail? Well don't kill me. There's one left. **


	31. Chapter 31

"Wake up, Merlin! Wake up!"

Merlin groaned as he rolled over in his bed, mumbling words that couldn't be understood. This was only his third night back home! Who had the audacity to disturb him while he was joyously rediscovering soft bedding? He'd practiced hard today…

"Seriously, Lancelot," he growled, and opened his eyes.

And then he sat straight up, suddenly very glad that his mumbling had been unintelligible. It wasn't proper to use such language in front of a lady.

"Morgana," he moaned. He seriously considered getting up and putting a proper shirt on (this one was old, comfortable, and would have been trashed long ago if a servant had been able to find it), but decided that he just didn't care that much. "What are you doing here? In a man's room. At… it's got to be two in the morning." He looked at his window, where the stars were visible through the crack in the curtains.

"It's three," Morgana replied. "I think."

"Oh," said Merlin, yawning and stretching. He looked down. "You're dressed," he said. "Why are you dressed at three in the morning? I thought you were trying to avoid making Nimueh suspicious."

"Oh, she hasn't bothered me since I told her Arthur was dead. She would have liked Uther to die, too, I think, but she had to settle."

"Poor Nimueh," Merlin said. "I'll do better next time. Is this going to require me to get dressed?"

"Yes," Morgana answered him, dragging him by the arm out of bed—he yelped. "You need to get dressed because Arthur wants to talk to you."

Merlin's open mouth snapped shut. "Arthur Pendragon wants to talk to me. That's where you were. You were out visiting family. He does realize he can't just send ladies _at three in the morning_…"

"I suggested you talk now," Morgana answered him with a glare and a shove towards his dresser. "I figured that you were less likely to be overheard this way. Besides, he has to get away from his father too, you know, and he comes from a bit more distance than you do."

"Fine," Merlin sighed, grabbing his clothes from the dresser and disappearing behind his screen. "You're going to escort me there?"

"Yes."

"And if Lancelot finds out about this and kills me…"

"He won't."

Merlin rolled his eyes, but of course she could not see him. In short order, the two of them were sneaking quietly through the castle, only a faint ball of light that Merlin had conjured lighting the way. That sphere of power was Merlin's specialty and favorite, despite having few uses. He thought he could do it in his sleep.

Soon they were in the silent courtyard, evading the guards. They were reduced to actually _sneaking_ since Nimueh and Merlin both had put anti-enchantment spells and charms on the guards. Morgana was right behind him, giggling just a bit.

"Where is he?" Merlin whispered.

"I'll show you once you're out the gate," Morgana responded.

Once they slipped out the gate, Morgana took the lead, leading Merlin swiftly through the trees. "He's been here for a few hours," Morgana confided. "He left this afternoon…" And then she pointed. "There!" she said, and took off at a run.

"Morgana," Merlin sighed, following her at a slower pace, watching as up ahead she caught up to Arthur and hugged him as though she hadn't seen him in a long time.

She pulled back and beckoned for Merlin, who hurried at her silent request. "Here," he said. "Hello, Arthur."

"Sire," Arthur greeted him, letting go of Morgana to hold out his hand.

Merlin looked at it and chuckled. "Doing that again, are we?" he mumbled as he shook Arthur's hand. "Morgana said you wanted to talk."

"Ah, I did, yes," Arthur agreed, pushing back his blond hair. He looked much better than the last time Merlin had seen him. He looked alive, for one, and healthier. He was cleaner and not so ragged; obviously several days of Guinevere's care.

Arthur looked at Morgana until she got the hint. "Oh!" she cried. "Right. I'll be… over that way. Don't talk about anything too secret without me, okay?" And with a laugh she once again disappeared into the trees, leaving Merlin with his biggest enemy—and friend.

Merlin looked back at Arthur. "You look better," he said.

"What? Oh." Arthur looked distracted. "Yeah, a few days at home." He looked up. "They fixed your hair."

"Yeah, restored my rugged good looks," Merlin snorted. "They just made it shorter." He coughed. "I'm assuming," he said, "that you've only barely finished living through lectures like I have?"

"Oh, yeah," Arthur snorted. "I guess it's worse for you; you've got both parents. I've got Leon, though, so I don't know… But Guinevere made up for it."

Merlin laughed along with Arthur, even though he didn't know who Leon was.

"Gwen," Merlin said. "She's a great woman. I can see why you admire her so much. She was the girl you told me about last week?"

Arthur grinned sheepishly and looked at his feet. "Yeah."

Merlin shrugged. "Love's nothing to be ashamed of," he said.

Arthur coughed, decided this was too awkward for him, and moved onto the next awkward subject. "You did a really good job," he said. "With the plan. I mean, I couldn't hear it, naturally, I was half-dead, but Gwen told me you did really well. Thank you for that. For saving all those lives."

Merlin waved his hand, but knew enough to accept compliments gracefully. "It was well-executed all around," he said, looking around at the night and noticing the moon briefly. Was Morgana nearby? He brought himself back to the present. "Gwen, for example," he said. "She was great. Her crying was really convincing… It distracted everyone, gave Gwaine the time to tell your father the truth…" He trailed off. Then perked up. "Lancelot told me he thought she did wonderfully."

Arthur stiffened a bit at the mention of Lancelot. But then he shook his head. "I didn't come to talk about that," he admitted. "I came to apologize."

"Apologize?" Merlin asked, head turned to the side.

Arthur nodded. "I lied to you. When I came to Camelot. I was a spy. My father used to tell me that truly noble men admit when they do what they should not and make amends. So I am sorry." He bit his lip. That had physically _hurt _to say.

"You're a soldier, Arthur," Merlin said. "And you had your orders. I can't blame you for that."

"It still wasn't fair to you," Arthur argued.

Merlin couldn't contest that. No, it wasn't fair, and it had hurt. It had hurt him deeply, mostly because he'd begun to hope that Arthur was going to be his friend, his real friend, and he had so few. He wondered if he would tell Arthur that now—but no. Perhaps another time. If there was another time.

"No," Merlin said. "Hopefully it doesn't need to happen again. I realize that we might not have done too much, but Arthur, I do plan on working towards some sort of peace. My father isn't always reasonable. But maybe I can keep him… You know, away. Until I can make some progress."

"My own father isn't always reasonable," Arthur agreed. "I'll try as well. We will continue to work for our rights, but I don't want to fight unless we have to." He looked pensively at his feet. "I don't want to fight. I just want people to be able to live in peace."

Merlin put his hand on Arthur's shoulder, but Arthur awkwardly shrugged away—he did not like to be comforted. "Arthur," Merlin said. "My father would weep to hear me say this, but had things been different between our fathers… I think you would have made a great king."

Arthur laughed at that. "Do it for me, then. They told me how you handled two armies. You've got a lot of potential, did you know?"

Merlin smiled. "I've never been informed of that." He waited, to see if Arthur would remember the joke.

"You do," Arthur affirmed, and grinned so that Merlin knew he remembered.

"Well, thank you for informing me." Merlin laughed. "I'm sorry you never got the chance to teach me some of your life-saving punches," he said.

Arthur nodded as he ran his hand down a tree casually. "Maybe someday I'll get the chance. It's too bad I didn't pick up on any magic!"

Merlin laughed, really laughed, out loud. "Never," he swore. "I won't be responsible for that."

Smirking, Arthur said, "It's almost a shame. I guess it can be funny. You should have seen everyone's faces when I woke up… I don't think they believed Gwaine's explanation. Except Leon. I don't really think Leon was fooled…" Thinking of Leon, Arthur began to subconsciously run his fingers around the still-healing new scar that peeked out from the top of his shirt.

Merlin's eyes were drawn to it immediately. He couldn't see all of it. Since he'd been kidnapped, he hadn't ever seen the whole thing. But it didn't matter. He knew what it was as well as if he had.

An _X. _A decree that Arthur's whole being was punished by the crown, reprimanded in the harshest way possible.

Merlin pointed. "You aren't the only one who needs to apologize," he said. "I know I wasn't there, but I am sorry for the law."

Arthur quickly covered his scar with his shirt. "No," he said. "Espionage, remember?"

Merlin shook his head. "No, it's because you were a Pendragon. One day it'll be different, like you want it to be. I promise."

Arthur's smile lit up his face. "I'll hold you to that." Then he looked up. "You should get some sleep. I should get some sleep. I have to get back before tomorrow afternoon, or my father will panic. And I have quite a distance to cover tonight."

Arthur held out his hand. He was crazy about those handshakes.

Merlin took it, but then he used his grip to pull Arthur in, giving the larger man a strong, friendly hug with his free arm. When he released the almost-prince, he had to laugh at Arthur's stunned and uncomfortable look.

"Thanks," Arthur said awkwardly as he turned to go, distinctly aware that Merlin was laughing at him.

The prince was unashamed as his friend melted into the darkness, shaking his head with mirth as he turned back towards the castle, walking until Morgana met him.

She appeared from the side as he strolled, slipping her hand into his quietly as she fell into step with him. Their hands were nearly the same size.

Silently, he looked at their joined hands, and she flipped her hair back as she answered. "If anyone asks, we can just say we went for a walk under the stars." She drifted closer to him. Merlin let her lean her head near his shoulder as she looked up into the sprinkled stars.

"You talked to Arthur?"

"I did."

"I love Arthur."

"I know."

"I love you, too."

Merlin was quiet for a moment, before he turned to her and smiled widely. "Thank you."

She hummed in response, then said, "You have to teach me that mock-death spell sometime."

"Sure," Merlin said. "You need to work on non-verbal anyway."

Morgana smiled thinly, still looking ahead of them. "That's okay," she said. "Because I can still thrash you in swordplay."

Merlin didn't argue.

Soon enough they were back in Merlin's room, having only explained themselves to one guard.

"Good night, Morgana," he said, heading towards his changing screen, but she stopped him by grabbing his arm.

Expectantly, he turned around, eyebrows raised.

She looked at him for a moment, licking her lips and searching his eyes. And then she leaned forward without warning and caught his lips with her own.

Merlin gasped as she pulled back, his blue eyes as wide as if she'd knocked the breath out of him. "Morgana…" he said.

"Just think about it, Merlin," she ordered.

He looked torn. "But Freya…"

She shushed him with a finger to his lips. "Just think about it," she ordered again, and then she turned. Her dress turned behind her, and she slipped out of his door without looking back.

He stared after her in the darkness for several moments, shaking his head to clear it and forgetting to think about strawberries. But then, in the darkness, he brought his hand to his mouth, and he began to softly smile.

**A/N: It's over, then. Please review one last time! What did you think? Did you like the story? And would anyone be interested in a sequel? Because I have this vague idea for one, which I may write if anyone likes the idea… **

**Also, I have a tumblr now. The link is on my profile if you are interested. **

**Once more, I'd like to thank Ultra Geek, who thought of the idea for the reverse!AU in the first place and allowed me to use it. **

**Peace!**

**~Kitty O of Awesomeness**


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